


Echoes from the Center of the Stars

by Crucified_To_A_Star



Series: From Night [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Artist!Hongjoong, Ballroom Dancing, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Flirting, Gardens & Gardening, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Pining, Prince!Hongjoong, Princes & Princesses, Rating May Change, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Tension, Side Yungi, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Unspecified Setting, blink and you miss it crying kink, doctor!seonghwa, hongjoong sometimes wears dresses and is sometimes a brat, hwa loves both of those facts, okay maybe not if you squint its kind of obvious, side sansang, this is NOT a period piece, this is entirely self satisfying, this was never supposed to be this long but i love them so much, virginity kink if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 112,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27342565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crucified_To_A_Star/pseuds/Crucified_To_A_Star
Summary: “I am sure that one day you will find the center of the universe, wherever it is. If anyone could, I do believe it would beyou.”“I hope that you will be there when I do. I hope that you will be by my side for a long while.”---Hongjoong is a crowned Prince, in line for the throne, and Seonghwa is a Doctor who lives vicariously through his cats garden adventures more than his own life. Hongjoong’s dream goal of life is to find the center of the universe, though Seonghwa thinks the stars have whispered to him where it lies.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Series: From Night [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076138
Comments: 126
Kudos: 203





	1. Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> this is my first time writing for this fandom and i am /very/ excited. 
> 
> some quick things to note:  
> 1\. i have written almost the entire story, so this is going to get updated as quickly as i can edit it properly.  
> 2\. this takes place within an entire au and the monarch system works differently and i ~kind~ of explain it later, but i thought it was too boring to dedicate a lot of time with.  
> 3\. i had this idea of hongjoong in a dress and thus....this fic was born.  
> 4\. there's no true plot to this fic except them falling in love *shrugs* i was in the mood to give myself the 75k slowburn, heavy tension, royalty au that i deserve!  
> 5\. every chapter is titled after a song i found fit! i'll link them all before each chapter. 
> 
> anywho, please enjoy!
> 
> song: 
> 
> [Trouble](https://open.spotify.com/track/5n0CTysih20NYdT2S0Wpe8?si=dh6VfNd2T2CUEW-Pc4-HAQ) \- Cage the Elephant

_Trouble on my left, trouble on my right, I’ve been facing trouble almost all my life. My sweet love, won’t you pull me through?_

_How many crows will sit upon that branch before it snaps?_ Seonghwa thought as he watched the weighted tree dance on a breezeless day. A murder was sitting in the bare limbs, coating the tree in with blackened silk leaves, leaves that cawed and crooned and bickered above the earth. Seonghwa was particularly interested in the manner in which they all seemed to condense to the same area only to grow irritated with the neighboring avians being too close. Seonghwa thought there was an odd allegory in there somewhere, one that told of the homes in the town and all of the people within the city walls. 

Seonghwa didn’t think more on it or whether the crows would truly break the tree with their combined weight. Everything came down at some point, he supposed, and this time would be no different. What difference in his life would a single broken branch and a flock of unhappy feathered beasts be? 

He let his attention wander back to the crowd around him, the loitering, the mourning, the broken-hearted, and the bored. Funerals were always a strange tradition, Seonghwa thought, full of farces and bleeding hearts and memories that were exaggerated to describe a relationship that was fictional. Seonghwa had sat through the past four hours of saddened mingling, of memoriams, of sorrowful sobbing speeches, and felt nothing but a tired ache behind his eyes. 

_He was a wonderful man,_ many insisted, _who loved his job and cared for all those in need._. Only half of that was true in Seonghwa’s opinion. Doctor Seo had been his mentor for the entirety of his medical training and had offered him a position immediately under him upon his graduation. Seonghwa had worked for the better part of a decade with the man, knowing him quite well both personally and professionally. Seonghwa thought he was kind of _garish_ if he was being honest. The old man seemed to have lived six lives in the span of one, shoulders hunched and tired eyes bagged down to his cheeks, with frown lines creasing his forehead and a consistently disgusted downwards curve of his lip. Doctor Seo had complained constantly of the royalty he worked directly for, complained of the clients in the apothecary and clinic, complained of the rain and how it made his joints ache. Doctor Seo was, overall, a person that Seonghwa could not describe as _wonderful_ or _caring_. He was a talented doctor and an excellent teacher, but he was nothing like what Seonghwa would qualify as an exemplary person. 

He couldn’t say that, though, not here, not with the tears and the dull faces and the freshly burned pyre still hot and still ashy. He couldn’t express those thoughts when Doctor Seo had passed his clinic down to Seonghwa, couldn’t express those thoughts when his children had been passing him skin burning glances the entire funeral. Seonghwa stayed quiet, as he often did, and allowed himself to feel grief for his mentor and his boss and what he could almost qualify as a friend. 

Seonghwa stood, listening to the sobbing and the grieving and the aching crooning of the crows huddling on branches in their own mourning clothes. 

Seonghwa definitely thought there was an irony there in the oil slick feathers. 

\---

Entering the clinic a week after Doctor Seo’s passing was odd, to say the least. The doctor had been missing from work for a while leading up to his death, but there was something that felt almost _intrusive_ about Seonghwa standing in his emptied office now. 

Seonghwa was holding a lopsided box of his belongings, a travel chest having been sat down on the desk already. Everything in the room was neat, dust free, and prepared for hours of eye straining paperwork. The sigh that left Seonghwa did nothing but disrupt his own thoughts, eyes glancing around the wooden room with a tiredness that he was beginning to understand came with the title. 

Seonghwa wasn’t sure what to make of his new space.

He wasn’t sure if it looked as though he were taking up his own space or if he was a toddler wearing adult shoes and playing house. Regardless, all of his belongings were placed neatly into the alcove shelves on the walls and the desk was organized with his piles of undone paperwork and stacks of his _new_ clientele files that he would have to find a way to fit in with his _old_ clientele files. He would have to decide how to divy up the patients in a way that was fair and manageable for not only the other staff, but himself as well. 

Seonghwa only sighed again, sitting down in the worn leather chair and propping his head on his elbows. Perhaps this line of work was more draining than he had thought as a child, but truly was there any career path a child was able to fully comprehend? Seonghwa didn’t think so. 

Still, sitting there in his plain suit, clinic coat draped over the rack by the heavy wooden door, he couldn’t remember ever finding it this _dull_.

\---

“Hongjoong,” The voice was strict and quick and struck like a lash, “Quit being obstinate. You have to go and have a consultation with your doctor.” 

Hongjoong moaned into his pillow, face down on his mattress. He knew this was awfully childish and probably looked rather silly to outside eyes, but Hongjoong was _distressed_. Doctor Seo had been his physician since he was a _child_. He couldn’t say that he had an emotional connection with the cranky medical man, but there was a distinct terror of changing to a new person after so long. Hongjoong’s fear manifested in an almost childlike manner as he hid underneath his heavy covers and pillows, ignoring the pleas of his mother’s advisor, Madame Choi. 

“You are in no way acting as a Prince in your current state. You’re an embarrassment to your lineage.” She spat, leaning against the doorframe, entirely black pantsuit crinkling neatly as she did so. Madame Choi wasn’t catlike in a sly way, rather she was akin a cat in the way that she was easily disturbed and carried high expectations. She rarely dealt with Hongjoong’s tantrums longer than three sentences, but Hongjoong rarely ceased. The two were less like _cat and dog_ and more like _cat and cat_.

Hongjoong _humph_ ed into the fabrics and shot back with a muffled voice, knowing he was on the losing end of the battle, “Tell me something I don’t know!” 

\---

“You’ll need bed rest for at least six weeks for the ligament to heal fully.” Seonghwa found many parts of his job _annoying_. Things like coughing children and question repeating and the phrase _do you really need to know that, Doctor?_ The _worst_ part of the job was when he dealt with patients who refused to listen to his diagnosis and recommendations; the patients who argued and bit back and then asked for _a different_ suggestion, as though Seonghwa were pulling options from a jar.

“I have to be able to walk, there’s a dance coming up-” He continued on, but by the time the words left his tongue Seonghwa was tuned out. The boy was no older than sixteen and had fallen down a hill during a rather rough game with his friends and while Seonghwa could sympathize, he had no patience remaining at the end of his days. 

“If you don’t sit and rest you have the risk of permanently damaging your knee.” Seonghwa interjected, stopping the teenager from continuing on, exasperation clear in the furrow of his brow and set of his lip, “You were lucky the tear was minor, but if you continue to strain it and exert it, you will cause it to tear further and eventually you will cause irreversible damage. I won’t force you to stay on bedrest, but I recommend you think about how important walking is to you.”

The sun was sinking below the treeline outside, the forest darker than the night sky, by the time Seonghwa had finished writing up the paperwork from the boy with the torn ligament. He figured he should remember his name after staring at it for so long and rewriting it so many times, but he also couldn’t remember the client before him or the one before that. Seonghwa was finding himself either unwilling or unable to remember the difficult patients. He wondered if there was a difference between _unwilling_ and _unable_ in his position.

He couldn’t remember when he had grown jaded or at what point his love for medicine turned into something almost detestful, but it was mind-numbingly tiring. He had never thought it would be easy to fall out of something he loved so dearly, but he supposed everything had an end. Everything had an expiration date that ticked closer with every second spent dreading it. He knew this. He accepted this. He just hadn’t expected his love to sour so early, dying young in a shallow grave.

There was a timid knock on his office door, one that made him roll his head from his hand and his thoughts, as he attempted to straighten himself up. The clock on the wall said it was well past seven in the evening and his clinic closed at six. The secretary named Anna opened the door when Seonghwa gave a quiet affirmation, her long curly blonde hair slipping from the tie she held it back with, pretty features looking apologetic as she peeked in. She was a sweet woman, one that Seonghwa truly didn’t mind spending time with, having enjoyed working with her in the office since his apprenticeship days. “My apologies, Doctor, but you have a remaining client for this evening.”

Seonghwa nearly groaned, the sound only stopping as his throat constricted with frustration. He swallowed everything down with the texture of sand and rubbed his hands against his slacks twice before responding, “The clinic is closed.” 

Anna cringed slightly, looking more regretful as she continued, “I know, but- I think you should just come out and speak with them. It might be easier than having me in the middle of everything.” 

Seonghwa sighed, irritation tightening his chest. She wasn’t wrong, yet the idea of conversing with _another_ client for the evening with the possibility of confrontation was the last thing he wanted to end his night with. Still, he stood and straightened his clothing out, ignoring the way the sun was completely fading from his office. He would have to turn on the lights when he returned to finish his work. 

Seonghwa followed Anna out through the wood floor hallways and cream colored walls, ignoring the distorted sensation of wandering a crypt. The two split at the last set of doors; Anna heading through the door that led into the reception office that was essentially a glass box in the waiting room and Seonghwa entered into the waiting room itself.

There were several people seated within the clinic lobby, the air surrounding them far more tense than necessary considering the quiet of the room and the night outside. There were two tall and broad men wearing thick black clothing and equally bored expressions, though one had peach colored hair and rounded features, while the other was all sharp edges and narrowed eyes with sand colored hair. The two were poised perfectly in their seats like stone statues and Seonghwa was sure he would be intimidated by their presence if it were any setting other than his office at the end of the night. 

Standing at the end of the row of seats was a woman with greying ink black hair that must have reached her curved waist when it was loose from the intricate bun she had tied it up in. She was older than everyone in the room, that much was certain, but in no way did she appear _aged_. She carried a mature aura, with stern features and permanently creased laugh lines, amber eyes intelligent and assessing. Finally, a more petite man with strawberry red hair and a slight pout clouding his expression was slouched in the seat in between the peach haired man and the woman. He was dressed sloppily in what Seonghwa swore was a navy blue pajama set, but he couldn’t be certain. None of them seemed pleased to be there and Seonghwa wasn’t pleased to _have_ them there. 

He recognized the group instantaneously and dreaded their appearance; the Queen’s advisor, the guards, and the Prince, heir to the throne, Seonghwa thought with a slight bit of bite. The Prince had previously been Doctor Seo’s patient, one he had passed down to Seonghwa with emphasis on the fact that he was Seonghwa’s _only_. The Prince was one patient he couldn’t pass along, just one more folder of paperwork Seonghwa was now required to deal with.

“The clinic is closed.” Seonghwa was an hour past patient and a lifetime worth of exhausted. He wanted to go _home_. There wasn’t much waiting for Seonghwa at his cottage, but it was far more appealing than staying in a darkening office until his back ached in a way that made him understand the hunch of Doctor Seo’s shoulders. 

The advisor bowed with a straight back, speaking precisely and clearly in a manner Seonghwa was sure she had developed from years of experience, “My apologies, Doctor. There was some trouble with getting the Prince to be willing to come to his appointment.” 

Seonghwa crossed his arms, barely side glancing at the completely folded Prince, before responding, “The clinic is closed.” 

“We had an appointment, though,” The Prince finally spoke, voice higher than Seonghwa remembered. Perhaps it was the hint of whine in his expression that created the impunitive lilt. 

“Hours ago,” He countered, looking over the rim of his glasses at the young royal, whose jaw was working over the Doctor’s words. Seonghwa knew he normally wouldn’t be this bold, wouldn’t be able to deny the royal lineage a single request, but today had been positively _grating_ and he couldn’t find a single strand of fear nor sense in himself. “Now, the clinic is closed. Please contact reception tomorrow to reschedule.” 

“That’s ridiculous!” The Prince exclaimed, uncrossing his legs and arms rather dramatically, a flair to his motions that was completely unnecessary, “You have time, take me back now.” 

“No,” Seonghwa said simply, a headache forming behind his eyes as he stared down at the petulant Prince, “The clinic is closed.” 

The silence hung heavy in the room, an omen of times to come that Seonghwa was unable to read quite yet. It was like the fading scent of incense as he tried to grasp at whatever it was left in the air. “Doctor Seo would have taken me back,” The Prince finally said after a moment, looking far more peeved than he had the right to given the circumstances. 

“Doctor Seo is dead,” Seonghwa’s voice was deadpan as he shoved his hands into his pockets and allowed himself to relax momentarily, understanding that this confrontation was far more like dealing with a child than an angry parent. “This is my clinic now. We close at six every evening. Please leave and contact reception tomorrow to reschedule.”

The Prince just stared at him with a dumbfounded expression, eyes narrowed and lips slightly ajar. He looked sweet, Seonghwa thought, mildly innocent and entirely entitled. The advisor was the one to speak next, tone slightly curving with curiosity, “Is that really the only way to get in to see you?” 

Seonghwa wanted to jump onto the roof and then jump _off_ of the roof. He wanted to curl up in the fireplace and take a nap with the soot bunnies. He wanted to curse and then leave with a slam of the door. Instead, he smiled politely with the taste of plastic on his lips. “If you had arrived on time for your appointment I would have gladly taken him in. However, I have paperwork left to finish and I’m well past the time I should have left. Taking him in now would mean I would not only have to do his assessment, but also redo all of his paperwork and consultation notes. I would be here well past the time I would be going to sleep, meaning I would be less rested for tomorrow’s round of appointments. Please understand that we close at six for a reason.” 

“I will contact reception tomorrow, then.” The advisor said calmly, after mulling over the moment with an unreadable expression. Seonghwa felt the stress slide off of him like it was a second skin he was shedding. The Prince looked as though he were about to make a fuss, but Seonghwa quickly thanked them for their understanding and disappeared back through the double doors and into the darkness of his office. 

\---

Hongjoong was once again in his bed, laying curled up beneath the soft red velvet duvet and against gold satin sheets. Stuck on his mind was the way the Doctor had outright _rejected_ him. 

Hongjoong had dealt with a lot of undesirable things in his life, but rejection had yet to be one of them.

Hongjoong wasn’t even sure he was _allowed_ to reject him like that, but the doctor hadn’t blinked twice at the idea of turning him away. He wasn’t sure what emotions were curling around his chest at the thought, but it felt unusually warm and unusually bold. 

That night, sleep did not come easily. 

\---

Seonghwa followed Anna through the hallways once again, watching as she disappeared into the receptionists area once more. The lobby wasn’t full, but it wasn’t deserted either, several other doctor’s patients waiting in the room, but none of them were who Seonghwa was looking for. 

The familiar head of red hair caught his eye amongst the natural tones and it seemed as though the Prince caught sight of him the same moment. He perked up immediately, cheek blushed from where he had been resting it on his knuckles and eyes bright with something that Seonghwa could only qualify as mischief. This Prince was pure trouble, Seonghwa decided in that moment; trouble wrapped up in a strawberry red bow and a pretty seafoam green pantsuit.

Seonghwa crossed the room and stood in front of him, the short coffee table separating the two, “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m here for my appointment.” The Prince smiled brightly, showing off all of his brilliant front teeth in a way Seonghwa was sure other people found charming. 

Seonghwa wasn’t most people and contrarily Seonghwa wasn’t charmed. At least, he told himself he wasn’t charmed. He refused to let himself be manipulated by a pretty smile and fluttering eyelashes and a coyness far too large for the space that the Prince took up. “You are not on my schedule for today.” 

The Prince just continued to grin, eyes glittering under the mix of artificial and natural lighting, stars trapped in olivey brown eyes. “I’m not,” He admitted with a slyness Seonghwa couldn’t place the exact origin of nor how to react to it. “My appointment is next week. I’m sure you could squeeze me in early, though.” 

“I cannot.” Seonghwa assured and then turned on his heel, attempting to brush away the feeling that the Prince left in his veins. As he was walking away, he wasn’t sure what caused him to, but he looked over his shoulder and said sternly, “I’ll see you next week.”

\---

Perhaps Seonghwa hadn’t been clear enough about the need for appointments, as the Prince continued to show up daily. Perhaps it wasn’t that he was _unclear_ , but the fact that the Prince didn’t seem to _care_.

It was always the same roundabout conversation of the Prince attempting to coerce Seonghwa into taking him in early and Seonghwa repeatedly denying him. It wasn’t exhausting and Seonghwa found himself not quite minding it, despite the annoyed face he would conjure upon seeing the man. If anything, it was growing to be mildly entertaining to hear the excuses that the Prince would come up with in order to try and slide into an appointment slot that didn’t exist. 

Seonghwa smiled into his tea cup at the thought, lost in his own world as he usually was. Seonghwa spent a lot of time thinking, a lot of time lost in memories and stories and daydreams and moments that didn’t nor couldn’t happen. He didn’t mind being lost so much. He took a sip of the cooling herbal tea and let himself sink into his cotton sheets and hand stitched quilts. By any luck of fate, the Prince was proving to potentially be an interesting client for Seonghwa to spend time with. 

He wasn’t anything like Seonghwa had expected the royal heir to behave. He wasn’t entitled, perse, but more persistent and driven. He was smug and sweet and caught on the fine line of flirtatious and annoying. Seonghwa truly couldn’t find it in him to dislike the man, no matter how preponderantly present the Prince was. 

Truth be told, Seonghwa could have slid the Prince into an earlier appointment slot if he had wanted to; there were several open appointments between their first meetings and the rescheduled time, but he was rather enjoying the annoyingly entertaining parts of his day where the Prince would show up unexpectedly. He always looked slightly unkempt, as though he had rolled out of bed and rushed to the clinic with a frazzled yet dazzling grin. Sometimes Seonghwa swore he was wearing pajamas and hadn’t even brushed his hair that day. He was rather _cute_ , in a scruffy, youthful kind of manner. Seonghwa knew they weren’t far in age, but somehow the Prince had clung to childish youthfulness whereas Seonghwa had absorbed the jaded edges that came with age.

Seonghwa flinched from his thoughts as his cat jumped onto the bed, pulling him back to a reality where he was overworked and drained of energy at all times and the Prince was a distant and fleeting thought stored in a castle in the woods.

\---

“I’ll see you now.” Hongjoong had been waiting to hear those words from the doctor’s mouth for an entire _week_. Hongjoong realistically knew that a week wasn’t a long period of time, however he wasn’t used to _any_ waiting period at all. Perspective, he thought, as he bounced onto his toes. Everything was about the perspective through which one used to assess the situation.

He followed the taller man through a series of doorways that made him feel as though he were wandering around a dollhouse, leaving both of his guards behind in the lobby to patiently wait for him. Hongjoong knew that Yunho wouldn’t mind the period of time that he would get to wait with Mingi in the lobby- Hongjoong thought that it was an awful long time to wait with nothing to do, but Yunho had insisted it would feel as though it were too short. _Perspective_.

“In here.” The Doctor’s voice was low and soft, fitting of the way his features were all rounded and high and far too sweet to look as sharp as they did. The Doctor was taller than Hongjoong, but shorter than Yunho, though most people were shorter than Yunho. Hongjoong vaguely remembered seeing the Doctor milling about the clinic on some of his previous trips in order to visit Doctor Seo, possibly during his apprenticeship days. Doctor Seo typically came to the castle, so Hongjoong couldn’t be sure of his memory. Hongjoong thought he would remember the Doctor, considering his odd hair color and the way that it changed from mauve to grey to sandy blonde depending on the lighting, though he couldn’t. Perhaps the Doctor preferred to blend into the background and that was why he looked as though he would rather do anything but speak to those in the lobby. 

“Are you going to introduce yourself?” Hongjoong asked after sliding past him and entering the room, tone light as he was teasing the man. He turned to face the Doctor while speaking, a grin carving itself in his face, cheek to cheek, “I still don’t know your name.” 

“Please change into the gown on the bed. I’ll be back in shortly.” The Doctor ignored him and shut the door tightly behind him, leaving Hongjoong alone in the silence of dismission. For some reason Hongjoong _liked_ the almost contemptuous tone the Doctor took with him. It encouraged him further in his antics, encouraged his desire to get any reaction from him, and he wasn’t sure the doctor hated these charades either. 

Hongjoong changed obediently, neatly folding his clothes and setting them on the table next to the bed. The room was made of ceramic floors and smooth white walls with a dark wood trim, a few tan colored cupboards decorating the room as they curved around a countertop with a sink. A small desk in the corner, two paintings of colorful flowers, and a one large window covered in gauzy curtains finished off the entire room. It wasn’t uncomfortable to be in the clinic's rooms; Doctor Seo had intentionally created a sterile yet disarming environment to do his business in. The clinic looked nothing like the hospital, which was white and faded blues and greens and long hallways with no windows. Hongjoong much preferred it here where he felt like he could breathe and the walls weren’t swallowing him.

There was a quick round of rhythmical knocks on the door and Hongjoong called to the person on the other side. The door opened soundlessly and just as quietly the doctor entered. Hongjoong watched as he went to the desk in the corner and started spreading out his paperwork. The man was incredibly lean, waist thin and shoulders broad, shaped similarly to a willow tree. His blondish hair was folded over his head as though he ran his fingers through it while it was wet and qualified that as a _style_ , and Hongjoong couldn’t say it was a _bad_ look. His cheeks and jawline were carved sharply and angular and yet everything about him looked _soft_ and rounded as though he were carved from clay rather than stone. 

Hongjoong wasn’t sure what to make of this man quite yet, but he was a fun change of pace in life, if nothing else. 

“Hello,” He said after fiddling with the folder on the desk for a moment. Hongjoong wasn’t sure he would ever be _unsurprised_ by the deepness of his voice and the way it rolled from his tongue in a breeze of a sound. “My name is Doctor Park. Your chart says you’re here for a standard physical?” 

Hongjoong shrugged lopsidedly and kicked his feet, his socked heels hitting the bed he sat on. If the muffled _thump thump thump_ bothered the Doctor, he didn’t let it show as he continued eyeing the Prince. “My advisor thought it was important to set up a meeting with you since you’re new to me.” Hongjoong feet tapped a momentary rhythm before he spoke again, head tipping towards his hunched shoulders in a playful manner, “Do you really only go by _Doctor Park_? What’s your first name?” 

“I see in your chart it said that Doctor Seo had been your primary physician since your birth?” He continued smoothly, brushing over Hongjoong’s personal inquiries quickly and easily.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong confirmed, licking his teeth. The doctor had yet to make eye contact, eyes living on the file he cradled in his fingertips, nose pointed down and attention only half on the Prince. Hongjoong couldn’t say he minded the feeling, but it led to an almost _needy_ tugging in his chest. Hongjoong truly wasn’t accustomed to being ignored in such a manner that the Doctor did. It made him yearn to find a way to become the Doctor’s sole fixation. 

“That’s a long time to have been with someone,” He said slowly, almost as though he weren’t really speaking to Hongjoong and instead the walls of the clinic, “I’m sure this transition has been unpleasant for you.” 

Hongjoong was smiling softly, though the Doctor did not see it as he was completely involved in the chart he was reading, chewing his thumb gently as he focused. He looked awfully _cute_ , Hongjoong thought. He gave a scoff at his words, though, the meaning catching up to him as he processed them. The Doctor glanced up finally, thumb dropping from his mouth as he closed the paperwork. Hongjoong was suddenly nervous at having his full attention in the quiet room, and was certain that the Doctor could count his echoing heartbeats from across the room. “Was something funny?”

Hongjoong swallowed, gathering the confidence that had been slightly weakened, “Yeah,” He managed finally, attempting not to crumble underneath the Doctor’s weighted gaze, “You could’ve made it easier if you’d adjusted my appointment as I asked.” 

The Doctor just stared at him for what could have been no longer than a few seconds, but in Hongjoong’s distorted mind, it was _hours_. Time wasn’t real, not anymore- it was an illusion created by man and Hongjoong was experiencing the distortion of such a facade. While Hongjoong was trying to crawl from the existential hole he had dug, the Doctor’s lips curved into what almost was a smile, the apples of his cheeks rounding only slightly. Time froze once again for Hongjoong, but as quickly as the slightly fond expression came, it was gone as the Doctor disappeared to the sink to wash his hands. 

Without the glare of blackened eyes pinning him like a petulant child, Hongjoong was able to regather himself and settle back into a headspace he found more _normal_. Over the running water, the Doctor spoke again, voice far lighter and a little higher, “Were all of the surprise visits your acclimation process, then?” 

Hongjoong’s cheeks heated slightly, lips folding as he pouted slightly, but he didn’t respond. His eyes followed the movements of his swinging feet as he listened to the Doctor shuffle about and the snapping of the rubber gloves. The smooth rolling sound of the wheeled stool interrupted the silence and suddenly Hongjoong’s feet were not the only ones within his eyesight. Professional, yet comfortable looking shiny black shoes were practically beneath Hongjoong’s dangling feet, dwarfing him. 

“You fidget a lot,” The Doctor noted, causing another round of heat to color Hongjoong’s ears inevitably, “Do you find yourself having to move often?”

Hongjoong shook his head, looking up finally. Meeting the Doctor’s eyes was far too nerve wracking, his gaze landing on the way his grey button down shirt collar folded over his coat on the left side instead. “Only when I’m bored.” _And nervous_. Hongjoong didn’t add the last half, but he was sure it was readable in the way his voice seemed to stop too abruptly. 

The Doctor seemed to accept that answer, despite the upwards curve of his eyes, and sat down on his stool. “We need to go through preliminary questions, as per usual then.” Hongjoong was nervous to go through such personal questions, but as he stared at the stethoscope around the Doctor’s neck as he answered about his alcohol consumption, he was reminded that this was the whole purpose in him being there after all. 

Hongjoong had gotten a grasp on himself by the time they finished the questions, his body relaxing enough to where he could lean back on his hands as he answered, head lolling about. The doctor stood and set the folder on the stand next to the bed. From the angle, the Doctor was much, _much_ taller than Hongjoong, the latter having to crane his neck upwards to meet his eyes. “I’m going to take your heartbeat down and check your lungs now. Sit up straight, please.” 

Hongjoong’s back straightened on command before his brain had fully registered the words, nerves alive as the instrument was pressed to his chest. This close to him in a scentless room, Hongjoong was encased in the faint smell of white tea and jasmine and something earthy like moss and trees along with the rubber of the gloves. He swore he could feel his fingertips on his skin despite the fact that they were nowhere near him, ghost fingers triggering every one of his nerve endings.

The Doctor’s face became tight as he pulled back, head tilting as he removed the buds from his ears. “Your chart said nothing about an arrhythmia. Have you been experiencing strange heart palpitations for long or is this new? Have you spoken with Doctor Seo about this previously?” 

Hongjoong’s chest was _hot_ , skin practically burning beneath the baby blue gown as he shook his head, “It’s not that,” His heels thumped against the bed a few times matching his heart rate, before he continued softly, “I’m just nervous. I don’t usually have strangers this close to me.” Not just strangers, but _attractive_ strangers and certainly not attractive strangers who treated him like _Hongjoong_ and not _Prince_. Hongjoong didn’t voice that, though. If the Doctor inferred the information he didn’t give, he wouldn’t discuss it.

The Doctor nodded, smiling softly in a manner that Hongjoong couldn’t quite decipher the meaning of. It was such a soft expression, so mild and _kind_ and it just made Hongjoong more nervous. “Understandable. I’m sure this is quite a change. However, I’m not a stranger. I’m your physician.” 

Hongjoong shrugged again, fingers digging into the stiff mattress, as he attempted to ground both himself and his body. “I mean,” Hongjoong looked to the window, allowing himself to repress the shyness and cover it with mischief, “You could tell me your first name. Maybe that’ll make you feel a little less like a stranger.” 

The Doctor sighed and shook his head, a movement Hongjoong caught from the corner of his eye. Hongjoong could feel that same fondness lurking in his eyes, though, and he knew the Doctor wasn’t genuinely annoyed. “May I check your lungs?”

“Yeah, sure.” Hongjoong looked back to the Doctor as he stepped forward again and placed the buds back in his ears. When Hongjoong flinched away from his hand, the Doctor said nothing. He simply moved slower and held his shoulder in a firm grip as he pressed the chest piece to his sides and chest with instructions on how to breathe. Hongjoong found that holding his breath was much easier than breathing the rest of the time. Again he swore he could feel the doctors fingers on his skin despite the layers of cloth and rubber between them, and the mere thought made every nerve in his body short circuit. 

This was going to be the longest appointment of his life, Hongjoong thought. 

\---  
That night, Seonghwa was curled around a cup of tea and wrapped in blankets, yet he couldn’t shake the shiver from his body. 

That close, Seonghwa could notice every detail of the Prince. He smelled like strawberries and cream and a slight tang of lemon. There was a mole on his neck, small and pretty and not worrisome. There were flecks of green and gold littered around blackened honey irises. He initially hadn’t thought that Hongjoong’s hair color was natural, but the red seemed to have no end. 

Seonghwa had been able to study the features of the Prince far too closely for his liking, every detail mapped in his brain so well he could almost sketch it. His nose was sharp and angled unusually, eyes wide and curved, and features so _pretty_ Seonghwa could imagine him sitting in a garden of flowers and still being the most eye catching presence. 

Seonghwa sighed into his nearly cold tea. Night would soon be dawn and he would still be awake, thinking about sunlight colored skin and the way his fingers knotted together on intimate questions. Sleep would be abandoning Seonghwa that night.


	2. Come Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter twoooooo~~~
> 
> [Come Back For Me](https://open.spotify.com/track/0cOrNgkbsWJYmxzf7T9nUd?si=Us2XyhvARRqMRuJtxZ5OHQ) \- Jaymes Young

_There is a fire inside of my bed, made of coals that I deeply regret_

The disorganized knocking on Seonghwa’s office door startled him from his paperwork. It wasn’t that he had been busy, considering the fact that he had been staring cross eyed at it for half of an hour, but he had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t expected a presence to join him. He had almost forgotten he was existing in a _real_ world more than he was his own mind, the sound reminding him of his true existence. 

“Come in,” He croaked, voice slightly more tired than he would deem professional. He had cancelled a majority of his patients for the day, far too drained to perform properly and decided to use the day to catch up on the paperwork he had of the transfer of the clinic into his name. Today he existed more as an office decoration than anything, the faded painting of waterlilies in the corner left behind by Doctor Seo more corporeal and present than himself.

The door cracked open, Anna peering around it with a kind, yet slightly confused expression. “Hello, Doctor. You have a visitor who is insisting you see him immediately.” 

Seonghwa felt his eyebrows curling before he could control his expression, the exhaustion melting away the filter he had handcrafted. “I cancelled every appointment, tell him I’m not seeing clients today.” 

Anna looked uncomfortable again and shook her head, “I already told him that and he insisted. Can you please come out and talk to him?”

Seonghwa pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing into his palm and counting down from ten. His patience was nothing more than a hand sewn fabric and lately it was feeling rather threadbare. When he finished the offbeat counting, he nodded slowly, “I’ll be out in a second.” 

A second was closer to ten minutes as Seonghwa had decided to finish up the single spreadsheet he was on before seeing the client. He was running on imaginary time, afterall, and the patient would have to follow suit. 

When he finished, he filed the paperwork and straightened his clothing, having opted for a casual button down and slacks set as he hadn’t intended on seeing anyone outside of other staff all day. The clinic and apothecary wasn’t an emergency center, it was entirely by appointment and consultation. Seonghwa listened to the clacking of his own shoes down the hallway, counting his steps in order to maintain composure. Perhaps if he used the sound as building blocks in his mind he could make it through the unexpected visitation.

The first thing Seonghwa was surprised about when pushing through the double doors, was the nearly empty waiting room, all the clientele being tended to or had left for the evening. The second thing he was surprised about was the head of brilliant red hair tipped over the edge of one of the waiting room seats as the body it was attached to was slumped unceremoniously in it. It was almost as if the person the head of brilliant hair belonged to had fallen asleep while waiting. 

“Prince Hongjoong?” Seonghwa said finally from the doorjamb, voice curving like the blade of a sabre in the near-empty room. 

The Prince jerked upwards in his seat at his name being called, straightening up immediately with a broad grin, dabbing the drool from the corner of his mouth. He was a rather _odd_ one, wasn’t he? Seonghwa thought as he watched the man perk up. “Doctor!” His voice was far too excited for him having been loitering in a medical clinic’s lobby, napping in a stiff chair.

“Prince, what are you doing here?” Seonghwa was cautious when asking this, unsure of why there was a need for fragile questioning. He was exhausted from having such little sleep last night, the cause of the problem was sitting in his lobby and looking up at him with bright eyes and exposed teeth. The cheek that Hongjoong had been resting on was blushed and creased with sleep and he looked _sweet_ in a poisonous way. Seonghwa noted the lack of guards, glancing around briefly. He pinpointed the black-clad figure standing outside the clinic doors and he wondered for a second on whether the guard had anything to do with the empty office.

“You forgot to retake my heart rate yesterday.” Hongjoong said with a straightforward and inarguable tone, chest puffing and hands gripping the rests of the chair. He looked as though he were sitting in a throne rather than a bland office chair, the air of royalty chasing him even whilst in pajamas and sleep ladened. 

Seonghwa’s eyebrows rose slightly before he settled back into neutrality, attempting to hide everything from the Prince’s deceiving eyes. Seonghwa was unsure of how perceptive the Prince was- he was undoubtedly intelligent, but regarded everything with such whimsy that Seonghwa wondered how much detail he truly absorbed from the world. “It’s not that important, Prince. I can retake it upon your next physical in a few months.” 

Hongjoong shook his head vehemently, “No, no, you said my heart was doing strange rhythms! We need to re-assess it. I’m the heir to the throne, afterall, and I have to be healthy for that and _you_ are the one that will be keeping me healthy from now on.” 

Seonghwa could only stare at him for a moment, lost in the thoughts rolling through his mind at the speed of light. He could count the ways in which this was necessary on a single hand, though he figured turning the Prince away would only lead to more problems in the future and he wasn’t sure that he had the time to deal with that. Finally, he relented, tension falling from him when he did so as though the marionette strings tied to his back had been cut. “Okay,” He caved, watching as the Prince seemed to beam at the affirmation, “Follow me back.”

When Hongjoong sat on the table, he was far more energetic than the prior day, seeming as though he had sucked the energy straight out of the sun. Seonghwa felt the complete opposite and perhaps the Prince had stolen _his_ energy. As Seonghwa was washing his hands and prepping once again, Hongjoong spoke in a sing-songy voice, “You never told me your name.”

“Doctor Park,” Seonghwa answered simply, drying his hands before spreading alcohol over them. He was moving slowly, sluggish from both sleep and an undecipherable dread of handling such a precious body once again. Something about touching the Prince made Seonghwa nervous, as though he were carrying a centuries old vase. 

“No,” It was moments like these, however, that the Prince soothed his nerves with such obscure behavior. Hongjoong sounded petulant at that moment, like a spoiled child having been told they couldn’t have every last candy bar in the store. Seonghwa found himself smiling, his back to the other man so his expression was safe from prying eyes. “Your _name_. What’s your first name?” 

“Doctor,” Seonghwa smiled further to himself, allowing his mask to crack just enough to tease the man. Later he would blame it on the fact that he was _so tired_ , but in the moment Seonghwa could admit he liked the annoyed groan sent his way. The Prince was so easy to rile and Seonghwa found himself enjoying the decidedly entertaining ways at which he responded.

“That was a very lame joke of you to make.” Hongjoong complained as he watched Seonghwa round the bed again, scooting his stool with his foot.

“Who said I was joking?” Seonghwa asked as he straddled the stool and became almost eye level with the Prince. 

There was a slight pinkness to Hongjoong’s ears, one that had been there yesterday occasionally as well. It was delightful, Seonghwa thought, how easy it was to peeve the young Prince. “What, you were just born and your parents decided you’d be a doctor one day?” 

Seonghwa shrugged, the movement small and controlled, but point as he maintained eye contact with the Prince. “Actually, they wanted me to be a carpenter- family business and whatnot. I changed it legally.” Hongjoong rolled his eyes, but there was such a partiality hidden in his expression that he knew he wasn’t the only one relishing in the moment. “Now, I’m going to take your heart rate. Keep quiet and calm so I can do it this time, alright?” 

Hongjoong huffed slightly, but kept silent as Seonghwa rested a hand on his shoulder to keep him straight and close. Hongjoong’s chest quit moving, his breath stalling while Seonghwa was close, meanwhile Seonghwa allowed himself the slightest of breaths to inhale the sweet and tangy scent the Prince carried with him. It wasn’t appropriate, Seonghwa knew, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop himself, his inhibitions left in the night with his sleep. 

Seonghwa counted the unusually fast rhythm and the way it stuttered occasionally, the sound drawing his eyebrows together in concern. Pulling away, he pulled the earpieces out and hung it back around his neck, long since accustomed to the way the chilled rubber and metal felt against his exposed skin. “You’re once again showing signs of an arrhythmia.” 

“I’m still nervous,” Hongjoong admitted quietly but shamelessly, fingers fiddling as he spoke, and Seonghwa noticed the plain silver band wrapped around his left hand index finger. “I need to get used to you first. You move too fast, Doctor. You should at least take me on a date first or tell me your first name.” 

He was chuckling as he spoke, the sound high and reminding Seonghwa of fairy bells hung in the forest. He found himself wanting to take the Prince up on the offer. Instead, he said nothing for a long moment. When Hongjoong’s body slowly lost the tension it had built and his fingers were no longer clasped, but instead playing the frayed pocket of his jeans, Seonghwa finally spoke again. “May I try again?” Hongjoong nodded before Seonghwa added, “If it helps, just imagine I’m Doctor Seo; cranky and tired and here for my job.”

Hongjoong _giggled_ and it sent Seonghwa’s own heart into an unusual rhythm and made his fingers shake. The doctor ignored the unexpected reaction, focusing on pressing the chest piece of his stethoscope to his body and holding him in place by his shoulder. This time, he counted a normal rhythm, the beats steady and heart healthy. When he said as much to the Prince, he simply laughed, “I told you I was fine!” 

“Then why did you come back?” Seonghwa tossed the stethoscope around his neck, folding his hands between his knees and leaning slightly onto his elbows. He was teasing the Prince again, coercing another warm blush to his ears. “If you knew you were fine then why are you here again?” 

Hongjoong shrugged, picking at the sheets beneath him, “I didn’t want you recording improper information. If I hadn’t come back you would have put _monitor for heart conditions_ in my chart and then I wouldn’t be able to be included in sports until that inquiry was nulled. Figured we should have it buried before it caused unnecessary problems.”

“It’ll still be in your charts that I noticed an abnormal heartbeat multiple times during our visitations.” Seonghwa was being intentionally difficult. He liked the flavor of wine and pout that seeped from the Prince’s tongue with every exasperated and flustered complaint.

“It was just nerves!” Hongjoong defended, but deflated when he saw the small smile curving Seonghwa’s features without his permission. The Prince was catching onto his games, ears tinged in the shade of peach that Seonghwa had hoped to see once again. Seonghwa took his success and surrendered. 

“I know,” Seonghwa finally caved, tone saccharine with an exhausted amusement, “I won’t put it in your official charts. However I will be monitoring you for it every consultation, so you’d better get more comfortable with me between visits.” 

“Oh?” Hongjoong asked, eyebrows sharpening flirtatiously and in that moment Seonghwa realized the unintentional double meanings of his words.

Suddenly he was the one out of control of the situation, his composure lapsing just momentarily as his sleep deprived brain lacked the ability to process his words before he had spoken them. He stumbled over his words as he responded quickly, “I meant that you need to just accept that I’m your physician now.” 

The grin on Hongjoong’s face told him everything he suspected. There was simply no backing away from the Prince’s intensity as he leaned forward, nearly invading the Doctor’s space despite the prominent gap between them. Hongjoong occasionally seemed to take up more space than he physically _could_ , his aura bleeding into the surrounding environment and controlling everything around him. Seonghwa was beginning to learn that there were times where the Prince was cute and handleable and there were times where the Prince was fanged and venomous. 

“I understand what you meant, _Doctor_ ,” Hongjoong practically purred the title and it sent an unexpected shiver through the man. He suddenly felt small, entirely _too_ small. “I’ll be familiarizing myself with you, it seems.” 

Seonghwa had merely swallowed heavily at the response; wishing he could swallow his words, wishing that he could regret his phrasing. 

He couldn’t do either.

\---

Nine days. 

Hongjoong showed up at sporadic moments throughout Seonghwa’s work day for nine days after his second consultation. Every time it was with a different pathetically crafted excuse that he needed the doctor to see him for one reason or another, pleading eyes always too enticing to reject.

The first day Hongjoong had shown up in clothes far too casual for a Prince, yet not quite pajamas and insisted that Seonghwa had missed a step in his physical again. The peach haired guard standing like a shadow near him had looked bemused at the situation, expression flat but eyes entertained. The Prince had claimed he went home after he had taken his heart rate for the second time and had just sworn that Seonghwa had skipped a step, though he could not pinpoint which step in particular it was. The Prince had just moped about how it had been in a different order to Doctor Seo’s and that he was absolutely _positive_ that the Doctor had missed _something_. When Seonghwa rejected the Prince’s claims with crooked eyebrows and curved lips, the Prince merely asked to set up an appointment for it. Seonghwa begrudgingly sent him to reception to do so, unable to deny the Prince a booking.

The next day Hongjoong came in with ruffled hair and a shirt two sizes too big on him and complained that he was feeling ill, requesting the Doctor’s immediate assistance. Seonghwa explained politely that he needed to head to the hospital if it was an emergency, that the clinic only took appointments. Hongjoong had declined and insisted he needed his primary physician to assist him in the apothecary, that Seonghwa was _his_ Doctor and no other was allowed to touch him. When Seonghwa bit his tongue and his nerves, he took him back into the hallways and began his questioning as they headed for the apothecary. Hongjoong perked up almost instantly and fled with a rushed _I’m feeling better now, thank you Doctor_. When the door swung shut behind him, it left the Doctor baffled and reeling in the moment.

The third day was the surprising day, where upon Seonghwa entering the waiting room he was greeted with a brilliant smile and the phrase _Good morning, Seonghwa_. The Doctor hadn’t yet told Hongjoong his name, having never intended on doing so, yet the Prince had somehow been able to wrest it out of someone.

 _Seonghwa is a pretty name, I don’t know why you hadn’t told me prior._ Hongjoong had said, still smiling up at the doctor from where he sat cross legged in a black pantsuit that framed him nicely. He looked slightly more put together today, but not to the level of regality he expected the Prince to dress with. Hongjoong made up with it in the air of mild shamelessness he carried everywhere.

 _It’s because you are my client._ Seonghwa had quipped back, with no true malice in the words. Hongjoong’s smile didn’t falter and it made Seonghwa suspicious, eyes heavy on the Prince as he merely bid his goodbye at the confirmation of his information. 

On the fourth day Hongjoong arrived complaining of a back ache and that the doctor needed to see him immediately. He refused to leave when Anna told him the doctor was full for the day and only waddled out of the front doors when Seonghwa made it to the lobby with a stern look and crossed arms. 

By day five Seonghwa was beginning to expect the Prince’s unexpected visits. Today was unusually surprising as Hongjoong had arrived during his lunch hour. When Seonghwa made it to the lobby, the Prince’s eyes were glued to his chest as he mumbled something nearly unintelligible about cookies and then vanished practically instantly. Seonghwa found the plate of cookies on the counter, shaped like little stars. There was a smile on his lips that he wasn’t able to hide quick enough for it to be unnoticeable. If Anna saw it, though, she said nothing.

The sixth day was eerily quiet until the sun was sinking below the treeline and Seonghwa was packing up for the day. He assumed that Hongjoong must have grown bored of his games, until he walked into the waiting room to see a familiar head of red hair hunched over his body, seemingly asleep. Once again the Prince was napping in the waiting room in a rather improper way, the guard standing outside once again.

“Hongjoong?” Seonghwa had asked, poking the man’s shins with the toes of his shoe, attempting to wake him up without startling him. 

“What?” The Prince mumbled, awakening slowly. Wide eyes had blinked up at Seonghwa with soft confusion that had him schooling his expression far more than he normally would have to. Something about the Prince always scratched at the softest parts of Seonghwa’s heart and the weakest parts of his resolve. “It’s about time you leave your office. The secretary wouldn’t take me back to see you.”

“Then she was doing her job well.” Seonghwa said with a small bit of amusement lacing the words. Hongjoong beamed up at him, all bright teeth and soft cheeks. Seonghwa understood why so many were so easily wooed by the Prince. “What’s your excuse tonight, My Prince?” 

“Is it wrong that I just wanted to see you?” Seonghwa stopped at that, frozen at the pure honesty leaking from the young royalty’s lips. Hongjoong had yet to be truthful with him about his random visitations and appearances in the dull clinic. He assumed it was boredom, something Seonghwa could relate to, yet he hadn’t expected such a forthright answer from the Prince. 

“I guess it’s not.” 

After that Hongjoong no longer had ridiculously veiled reasons to show up. He simply would materialize in the lobby, wait for the Doctor to make an appearance and then stick to him as though he were attached, all the way until it was Hongjoong’s time to leave once again. 

On the eighth day, Seonghwa entered his office in the morning, a little less tired and a little more excited than normal.

As he was taking off his jacket a chirpy voice crooned from inside the room, “Good morning, Seonghwa!” 

In shock, he had dropped his bag and coat with a shriek, falling back against the still open door causing it to slam shut. This, in turn, made the strawberry headed Prince shout back at the unexpected response, clutching at his chest in surprise. 

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa had cried when his heart left his throat and his pulse rate settled back down to an almost normal level. When he shrilled back at the Prince with an accusatory tone, it was devoid of all malice, “What the hell are you doing hiding in my office before open hours? How did you get in here?”

“Anna let me in!” Hongjoong defended quickly, hands waving in the air as though he had been accused of a crime, “I was running an errand and we bumped into each other and I just ended up coming here with her. She told me I could wait for you here.” 

Seonghwa pressed his fingers to his chest one last time before bending down and gathering his fallen belongings. “You’ll be the death of me, My Prince, just you watch.”

The ninth day was Seonghwa’s favorite, he thought. 

Hongjoong brought him a small lunch of cold soup and soft, spongy bread, unexpectedly handmade by the Prince himself.

“The soup is cold.” Seonghwa said simply as he opened the container and looked at the dark broth and vegetables with noodles swimming inside.

“It’s supposed to be,” Hongjoong insisted, handing the Doctor a wide spoon as he took out his own container. “It’s a cold soup.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” Seonghwa was repressing his smile as he stared at the glass canister. He _had_ heard of cold soup before and he actually quite enjoyed the meal, finding it refreshing and light. The Prince didn’t know this, though, and nor did he have to. Seonghwa was simply playing with the man again. “I think you were just slow and the soup got cold. Now you’re making things up.”

Hongjoong’s lips pursed as his cheeks puffed and he pouted at the other man. He looked pretty today, in a gauzy white shirt and black jeans with heeled boots that clicked with his annoyance against the hardwood floors of Seonghwa’s office. Several decorative pearls lined his hair and it took more self-restraint than Seonghwa expected to not reach out and play with the pretty gems. “I was not slow, the soup is supposed to be cold. One of the maids showed me how to make it. Where she comes from they eat it a lot in the summer because it’s incredibly hot there.” 

“It’s not summer, it’s autumn.” Seonghwa said slowly, fingers drumming against the canister in order to distract them from playing in Hongjoong’s hair.

“It’s the end of summer,” Hongjoong argued, crossing his arms and sitting on his desk edge, a habit he had recently formed. Seonghwa couldn’t say he minded the habit, appreciating the way that Hongjoong’s frame looked like an embellishment in his office. It was unprofessional to think such thoughts or have such opinions and possibly illegal to have them about the _Prince_. Seonghwa figured what others did not know could not hurt him, though. His thoughts stayed in his mind and his inhibitions controlled his body.

Seonghwa looked to the window that overlooked the forest, distracting himself from the decorative Prince. Small dots of warm reds and oranges littered the steady greenery, signifying the beginning of the season. With a single finger he pointed to the window, to the colors, to the slowly dying world outside, as his own world grew more alive. 

“It’s autumn.”

\---  
Seonghwa hadn’t realized how much he had begun to look forward to his days. The mornings no longer felt long and tiring and his clients were no longer migraine inducing. Life wasn’t quite as boring as it had felt like it had become, the color saturation slowly returning to his greyscale life. 

Seonghwa found himself smiling throughout his day, meeting clients and finishing paperwork with a little more cheer than normal. The days weren’t daunting and lonely anymore.

Though as the sun began to set below the treeline and Hongjoong still hadn’t made an appearance, his excitement was growing dimmer and the warmth in his chest fading to a disappointed ache. As he closed the clinic that night and made his way home, the nagging loneliness clung to him tighter than his shadow. 

\---  
Hongjoong didn’t come in the next day, either.

For three days the spot on his desk where Hongjoong had rearranged to seat himself, had stayed empty. Seonghwa hadn’t placed anything in the spot in case the sudden apparition of the Prince decided to visit him. 

Seonghwa tried to not let it affect his work, instead tried to continue the momentum of his newfound energy. He found it was still easier to come into work than previously, his days still more enjoyable, and his body still slightly lighter. He allowed himself to continue to carry the generally good feeling the Prince gave him, attempting to replicate it on his own, hoping to manufacture it in even a fraction of the strength.

That seemed to be enough, at least temporarily.

\---  
On the fourth day, Anna stopped Seonghwa as he entered the clinic. She was dressed neatly today, in pretty shades of lilac and navy that made her look like a spring flower lost in early autumn. “Seonghwa,” She greeted, chipper in the morning light, surrounded by misty dew, “There was a letter for you in the mail.” 

Seonghwa took the sealed envelope stamped with red wax that glittered gold in the light. The crest was a globe with sharp spikes extending outwards in the shape of what almost appeared to be a star. The royal family’s crest. There was no sender labelled, rather just being addressed to _Doctor Park Seonghwa_ in exaggeratedly pretty red calligraphy. Seonghwa thanked Anna absentmindedly and found himself back in his office to open the letter. 

Sitting behind his desk, he gently pried the wax open and delicately cradled the fine parchment in his fingers. He felt as though if he handled it too carelessly it would disintegrate and he would be left without news on the Prince.

 _Doctor!_ The greeting was far too informal to be from anyone other than Hongjoong, Seonghwa decided and with a quick glance to the bottom where the bold signature was scrawled, he confirmed such. 

_I hope you’re well. I didn’t intend to abandon you so suddenly. I have been slightly...reprimanded...for my abundant and long disappearances by my mother. Something about the heir needing to be more responsible and consistent. I didn’t really listen, if I’m being completely honest. The castle is boring and the clinic is boring. It seemed like a win-win._ Seonghwa couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped through his nose, imagining Hongjoong hiding in his room writing a complaint letter to his _physician_ about his _mother_. It was such an odd image of the Prince. 

_Anyways, I’m going to be away for a little bit. I asked one of my guards that actually likes me (the one I always bring with, his name is Yunho if you’ve ever wondered) to drop this off. I just thought you’d want to know that I didn’t just decide that I didn’t like you anymore._ Seonghwa wasn’t sure what to think of that, so he moved on from it quickly.

 _You’ll know when I’m back, I’ll be sure to make a grand entrance. You should also invite me over for tea sometime. I think it’s rude you haven’t yet. You’re treating royalty, after all, which is such a grand privilege! You should take better care of me, Doctor!_ If he were here, Seonghwa would have asked why he needed to invite him over and how that would increase his physical health. Hongjoong wasn’t here, though, and therefore Seonghwa could do nothing to refute the demand. Seonghwa was certain that wasn’t a coincidence. 

_Take care, Doctor, and be sure you’re leaving on time in the evenings, otherwise you’ll miss all of the stars._   
_-Hongjoong_

\---  
Hongjoong hadn’t been lying when he said Seonghwa would know he had returned. 

It had been a week since the Prince disappeared and Seonghwa found himself oddly excited for his return, looking forward to the days where he would once again appear without warning and disappear just as suddenly. It kept Seonghwa’s rather stagnant life interesting. 

Anna had left for the night already by the time Seonghwa was gathering his belongings and closing the clinic. He had had an unusually large amount of paperwork from that day and had stayed only a little late in order to finish it, eyes tired behind his glasses but accomplishment fuelling his movements. Upon exiting the clinic he was stunned to find a classical carriage with black walls and gold filigree trim pulled by two stunningly black horses with wavy manes cared for carefully. The scene was something pulled from an old painting, one Seonghwa would have seen in a museum hung with care and _not_ outside of his clinic. 

“You’re late,” An all too familiar voice spoke from off to the side, the lilt in his tone creasing like silk. 

Seonghwa turned to face Hongjoong, but the person he was met with wasn’t the one burned into his mind's eye; all ruffled hair and comfortable clothes with sleep clinging to his eyes. This Hongjoong was a genuine _Prince_ , the title no longer a teasing accusatory. The black dress he wore was weighted, silky looking fabric that draped over his figure in an entirely too flattering manner with every curve and broadstroke. The sleeves reached his wrists and were cuffed with thick gold brocade that matched the brocade that lead from a fine point in between his pecs all the way up his slender neck and over his shoulders, accentuating his profile. A hooded cloak was draped over his shoulders and pinned to the dress with gold brooches that matched the crest on the letter Seonghwa had received, one that he had seen many of times on official political statements and letters. His face was decorated with stunning gold markings that shimmered as he moved and blinked and when he walked the dress split up the middle revealing black slacks and heeled boots that made him nearly Seonghwa’s height. His typically ruffled strawberry hair was slicked back and glittered with the same gold that decorated his face and Seonghwa found himself unable to stop staring. 

He had seen the Prince look like this before, of course he had. He had seen the broadcasts of his birthdays and his speeches and his political adventures. He had seen him at events and he had seen him from across crowds of people. He had just never seen him look like _this_ while standing on an empty street, the two of them encased in a dusky autumn silence.

It felt oddly intimate and Seonghwa felt suddenly suffocated with the lack of space between the two, despite the fact that he would be unable to touch Hongjoong if he outstretched his arm. _This_ side of Hongjoong took up far more space than he ever had loitering in the lobby. This Hongjoong stood taller, prouder, broader. He felt far more like someone fit of the title _Prince_. Seonghwa was once again reminded of the Prince’s fangs and the venom laced tongue prepared to coerce Seonghwa into sin, however unintentionally.

“Are you going to say hello or just keep staring at me like you’ve seen a ghost?” Hongjoong finally asked after a long moment of silence. His voice was quieter in the night than it was in the day, carrying a deeper rasp and lulling motion. It sounded as though he were the ocean tempting lost sailors to the depths and Seonghwa wondered just how willingly he would sink if called.

 _Not a ghost,_ Seonghwa thought as the glitter of gold settled in his heart, _A God_.

Seonghwa swallowed slowly, before nodding, readjusting his grip on the leather bag he carried. He felt as though it were slipping off his body or perhaps that he was slipping off of the earth. Either way, he grounded himself with the worn strap and braced himself to speak, “Hello, Your Highness. The clinic is closed.”

Hongjoong’s smile outshone the moon above them and Seonghwa felt his heart leap into his throat. He was unable to swallow the feeling of captivation that had engulfed him since he laid eyes on the Prince. Seonghwa wanted to paint him, to sketch him, to remember this moment on something more permanent than his memory, but Seonghwa was no artist and Hongjoong truly was a masterpiece. When Hongjoong spoke, it was coy and warm, tasting like cinnamon and wine, “That’s fine by me. You’re missing the best parts of night, Doctor. Accompany me?” 

Seonghwa didn’t truly remember getting into the carriage, nor did he really remember anyone saying where they were going. Hongjoong’s favorite guard drove the carriage down smooth streets as Seonghwa focused on being able to breathe properly. Inside of the carriage, it smelled like incense, but somewhere in there he was able to find Hongjoong’s distinct and familiar sweet scent of strawberries and cream. It was a little overwhelming, especially with the way Hongjoong sat prim and proper on the bench across from him, in a manner Seonghwa had yet to see, with his legs crossed and fingers folded carefully in his lap, the silver band winking at him dangerously. 

“I was sent to my grandparents house,” Hongjoong explained finally, delicate fingers trailing over equally delicate fabrics, as Seonghwa’s eyes watched every move. “They’re awfully traditional. That’s what’s up with,” Hongjoong paused and made a vague waving gesture to himself that made Seonghwa blink lazily, “Everything.” 

Seonghwa nodded, licking his lips before speaking, feeling parched in the early autumn chill, “What did you do while there?” 

Hongjoong groaned, head tossing back in a manner far more familiar to Seonghwa than anything else about Hongjoong had been that evening. “It was _so_ boring. I did nothing. I was dressed like this every morning, sent to the garden to read with my grandmother, and then sent to the study for work. Then I had a _bedtime_ of eight in the evening. I had a _bedtime_ , Seonghwa. It was miserable.”

Seonghwa allowed himself to laugh at that, the sound quiet and muffled behind delicate fingers, but Hongjoong seemed to appreciate it nonetheless as he watched him with glowing eyes, “I’m sorry for that, Prince.”

“You’re taking humor in my suffering,” Hongjoong complained, slumping only slightly against the dark velvet bench, “You’re supposed to pity me.” 

“It is impossible to pity you, Your Highness.” Seonghwa was teasing him, his words laced in something that tasted like honey and lemon and Hongjoong seemed to savor it.

“ _Your Highness_ ,” He repeated, licking his lips and leaning forward on his elbows, “I think I like hearing that from you.”

Seonghwa found that around Hongjoong he often had to be careful of his word choice as the man seemed to pull unintentional meaning from any misspoken word. Seonghwa swallowed heavily. “Anyways,” Seonghwa said, cutting through the tension with a gentle voice, making Hongjoong collapse back into his seat as though Seonghwa had physically removed him from his space, “Now that you’re back, what will you do?” 

“You mean, will I keep visiting you?” Hongjoong filled in all the blank lines Seonghwa had left behind and it made the elder blush slightly, his neck coloring before his ears. Hongjoong took a clear note of it, his eyes following the peachy color across honeyed skin. “I need to make it more routine. We can decide times later.” 

Seonghwa blinked several times owlishly as he processed this information. He was now scheduling in time to _hang out_ with the Prince during work hours? Before Seonghwa could inquire further, the carriage halted and Hongjoong clapped twice excitedly. “We’re here!” The driver and guard shouted through the walls as he climbed down. The carriage door swung open after a mere second and the guard waited for Seonghwa to exit first before assisting Hongjoong out. 

Seonghwa had forgotten to pay attention to where they were going the entire ride, instead having been focused on the kingdom crumbling beauty that had taken up the entirety of the space of the cabin. Now that he was freed from Hongjoong’s vice-like aura and in the open world, he could see that they were on the outskirts of town, nearing the area he would head for home. This road was mostly unused and forgotten, especially across the bridge they were standing in front of, seeing as the bush limbs and vines had crept into the pavement like veins. There was a river under the bridge, the one Seonghwa assumed to run near his house, and in the night it appeared to be nothing but a streak of blackness amongst the blue of night. 

Hongjoong appeared by his elbow, looking into the water as well as though he were searching for something. “You’re lucky you weren’t too late, Doctor. The best part is still here.” 

Seonghwa was going to ask, going to inquire further, but rather he followed the Prince up the arch of the small stone bridge and to the railing instead. The Prince seemed to have a clear idea on what he was looking to experience and he figured he would allow him the reins on their adventure.

At the top of the arch, Hongjoong curled against the stone railing of the bridge, body outlined in the silvery moonlight. Seonghwa wanted to chastise the Prince for pressing his fabrics against the dirty, rough surface, but he figured the Prince had so many more outfits like this to choose from and many seamstresses with capable fingers and talent beyond his imagination to fix them. Seonghwa bit his tongue and instead followed Hongjoong’s gaze across the horizon. The moon wasn’t full tonight, yet it wasn’t half either, waxing in the sky. It lit the area in a bleached navy glow that made everything feel as though Seonghwa were no longer on this planet, rather something far more celestial and heavenly. The river was quiet and smooth, only a few streams of consistent ripples disturbed the surface that reflected a mirror image of an endless universe littered with burning stars and wispy clouds and two single souls existing amongst them all. 

Seonghwa felt breathless at the beauty of the scenery in front of him, the dim city lights doing nothing to fade the brilliance of the sky. The forest across the bridge was entirely black but there was no dread of what lingered in the shadows- everything here felt calm and safe. 

“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” Hongjoong spoke softly, voice barely above a whisper. When Seonghwa looked to him, the airy feeling in his head and chest only grew, his body nearly melting into the moss and cobblestone. Hongjoong’s side profile was sharp, outlined in white light and glittering as though he too contained as many stars as the sky had to offer. Seonghwa could believe that. When Seonghwa didn’t respond, Hongjoong looked to him, head turning slowly, golden earrings glinting in the moonlight as he did so. Seonghwa counted the six earrings to ground himself. If Hongjoong’s smile was anything to go by, he knew of Seonghwa’s enraptured state. The Doctor wasn’t hiding anything as well as he should have been, though the Prince didn’t seem to discourage it. “I told you to not stay so late or you miss all the stars.” 

“I didn’t know this is what you meant.” Seonghwa murmured back, voice far softer than even Hongjoong’s, floating away in the night like dandelion fluff. 

Hongjoong smiled at him, radiant and ethereal in a way the moon could never compete with. “Well, I’m glad you weren’t too late tonight. Otherwise we would have never made it in time for you to see the moon on the water. I think that’s the best part, personally.” 

Seonghwa looked out to the water, looked at the way it reflected only the best parts of the scene in front of him. He felt as though, once again, there was a meaning there- a metaphor hidden with his life experience. He glanced back to Hongjoong, nodding slowly, “I think I agree.” 

Hongjoong was close to him now, close enough that Seonghwa could feel the way that his dress fabric shifted his jacket. Close enough that Seonghwa could feel a phantom warmth from a body he was both familiar and unfamiliar with. Close enough that Seonghwa wanted to provide him with space and tell him that he shouldn’t be sullying such fine clothing with the rock, with the dirt, with _him_. Seonghwa didn’t move, though, didn’t create a space where there should have been. Instead he found himself leaning into the feeling of another life force existing solely next to his in a moment of infinity. It was refreshing to not feel alone.

“Hey, Seonghwa?” Hongjoong asked, voice low in his throat. Seonghwa hummed, unsure of the way his voice would translate in the evening. He was scared of speaking, in a way different than normal; he didn’t want to shatter whatever peace was around them. “So have you thought about what time I can visit you?” 

Seonghwa sighed into the night, shrugging lightly as his shoulder brushed against Hongjoong’s. “Whenever you would like, Hongjoong.”

“Not _Your Highness_?” Hongjoong teased, smiling still. 

Seonghwa looked to him, but it felt _different_. He was _looking at Hongjoong_. In a moment of boldness, Seonghwa’s tongue slipped from his lips, a slow tracing motion across his lips, one that he watched Hongjoong follow with waning confidence. Seonghwa’s lips curved upwards slightly and from his mouth fell words laced with a tone that tasted like wine, “ _Your Highness_.”

Hongjoong’s lips parted slightly as though his jaw had lost some of its tension and for the first time since they had met he looked as though he didn’t know how to respond to a situation he had created. Hongjoong was the first to look away, eyes averted back to the scene in front of them and for some reason that made Seonghwa’s empty chest fill with blossoming roses. 

It took a long moment for Hongjoong to compose himself enough to speak and Seonghwa couldn’t lie about the amusement that filled him at the knowledge he made the Prince so nervous. “If I visited on your lunch hour we could eat together, or if I met you in the evenings we could do more things like this.” 

Seonghwa hummed again, voice nearing a lullaby as he mulled over the options Hongjoong had given him. “I quite like this,” Seonghwa admitted finally, “This has been incredibly nice. I think if we were to continue meeting, this would be a wonderful way to do such.”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong agreed all too quickly, covering it with a cough before blinking roughly, gold flecks falling into the dark night with the movement, “Yeah, I like this, too. That also forces you to get off work on time.”

Seonghwa looked at him again, unclasping his hands and letting his fingers dangle over the edge of the barrier, “Why do you worry that I work late?”

Hongjoong shrugged, looking oddly shy now. “It seems so lonely,” He admitted into the night and Seonghwa felt a twinge of embarrassment at his words, “Doctor Seo used to talk about you sometimes during our consultations. He spoke about how talented and brilliant you were as a doctor, but how he thought you worked far too much. When he passed me along to you, I figured I’d be meeting someone in the middle of his life, someone with a lot of experience and an accomplished life. I was surprised that you were barely a breath older than me and you already looked so _tired_. Anna said you don’t talk to the other doctors really and that you essentially go to work and then go home. It sounded all so lonely. Can I be honest with you on another thing, Seonghwa?” 

The question was added like an afterthought, tacked on with rushed speech, but Seonghwa accepted it as a main idea, “Of course, Hongjoong.” 

“I’ve been lonely, too.” The admission sounded so vulnerable and tiny in such a broad moment they stood in surrounded by the never-ending cosmos. Hongjoong swallowed visibly before shrugging and picking at the barrier, “I mean, I have a lot of acquaintances and events I attend. Most of my guards are my friends as well. It’s just that I often feel like they either don’t like _me_ or that they only decide to like me out of convenience for their job.”

Seonghwa sighed into the night, the air just chill enough to send goosebumps over his skin, or at least, he convinced himself it was the cold that did that. After a brief moment where the night overtook the sound, Seonghwa finally replied, “I often feel that way, as well.” 

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong finally asked, tone high but voice low and Seonghwa convinced himself that there must have been a breeze that caused the chill down his neck. When they made eye contact again, Seonghwa swore there were stars trapped in Hongjoong’s irises, swore that the young Prince had hand plucked them from the sky and kept them trapped within him. “Would you like to be alone, together?”

\---  
That night, under a moon falling from the sky as the morning drew far too near, Hongjoong flopped into bed. Seonghwa and he had spent hours by the river, staring at its reflections and talking about everything and anything. Yunho, the blessed and his favorite guard, had been polite enough to just sit and stargaze on the carriage and allow them the space they needed. Hongjoong had felt such a crushing disappointment when he realized the Doctor needed to go home as it was far past the middle of the night. He had insisted it was fine, that he had his weekend and that being out late wasn’t going to inhibit his day, but that his cat was probably waiting for dinner impatiently. Hongjoong had been absolutely enamored by the way Seonghwa had seemed almost embarrassed at the admission. Hongjoong had simply used it as a way to once again invite himself over. 

_I would love to meet your cat sometime._

Seonghwa hadn’t rejected him. He hadn’t accepted, but he hadn’t rejected. He merely parted with a sweet _Goodnight, Hongjoong_ laced with roses and honey.

Just the memory of the tone he had spoken in sent a heat through Hongjoong’s face and neck, causing him to bury his head into his pillow and kick his feet softly. That doctor was going to be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhhhhhhhhh i'm honestly just addicted to this au lol anyways i hope you enjoyed and see you in the next chapter<3<3


	3. Things I'd do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~mild nsfw early on~  
> anyways enjoy!! :D
> 
> [Things I’d Do For U](https://open.spotify.com/track/79Hy8D440T4YrpEfwlL7qb?si=ZGj2Wkr-TNe3olIBPBDxMA) \- astronomyy

_Maybe we can go some place. If we never wake up, maybe we can take it slow. If we never wake up, maybe we could fly away._

Hongjoong wasn’t able to visit Seonghwa as often as he would have liked to, but at least three times a week he kidnapped the doctor after he closed the clinic in order to take him to watch the sunset and bet on which stars would appear in the sky first. Seonghwa insisted that the stars were consistent, but Hongjoong said that no anomaly as scientifically strange as a _star_ could be anything close to _consistent_. 

Still, those nights were some of Hongjoong’s favorites. Most nights he would wear his pajamas, wear old sweatpants and heavy flannel shirts in order to combat the autumn nights creeping towards cold. Others he came dressed in finery that he was too lazy or too late to change from by the time he needed to head to the clinic. Either way, Seonghwa seemed to always be unable to look away from him for long, so Hongjoong was truly unable to decipher what the doctor thought of him. 

Something pointy and lightweight smacked into Hongjoong’s forehead, startling him out of his thoughts rather abruptly. “Hongjoong,” His mother’s advisors voice was stern as she wadded up another piece of paper to toss at him, “You’re out of focus again.” 

“Apologies,” He mumbled, blinking himself from his mind.

“What has made you so distracted lately? You’ve barely been able to focus during any of your council meetings. I’m beginning to worry about you.” Madame Choi was jagged surely, but she _cared_ about Hongjoong. He had grown up with her, known her as _Madame Choi_ for as long as he had known his mother as _mother_. He had watched the white streak near her temples form and she had watched as he grew taller than her. He knew that she always had his best interest in mind, even if she wasn’t the softest of people.

“I’ve been thinking about choosing my own advisor,” Hongjoong finally said honestly, hoping to not hurt the woman’s feelings in the process, “I found someone I find suitable for it, but I don’t know if they’re willing. It’s been on my mind a lot and how to have the conversation with him.” 

“ _Him_ ,” She repeated thoughtfully, voice a little more distant than Hongjoong wanted to address, “Are you thinking of the doctor?”

Hongjoong shrugged from his seat at his desk in the library, his suit far stiffer than the dresses he preferred. Suits were so restricting, he thought, the way they pinned his limbs to his torso and held him together like a prepackaged doll. He wasn’t sure he wanted to fully disclose his thoughts yet, but lying to Madame Choi was impossible. “I feel he would make a suitable advisor.” 

“Well,” She said after a long pause, her foot tapping against the wood floor in the silence, “You need to ask him first.”

\---  
Seonghwa had decided that in the colder parts of the year that the clinic would be closing earlier. He hated the idea of being in his office so far past dark and hated the idea of clients coming _in_ in the dark. This cut back his work hours, but it also gave him more time to spend with Hongjoong after work, so he figured it wasn’t all that bad when it came down to it.

Tonight they were able to meet before the sunset, a rarity this time of year. It seemed as though the sky was going to burn the world with its fire considering the sheer amount of vibrant orange and pink ribbons curling through blackened clouds. Tonight it would rain, Seonghwa thought, and he would be able to listen to it from the warmth of his bed.

For now, though, Seonghwa was standing in his office packing his bag as Hongjoong fingered through the pile of sorted paperwork on his desk. Tonight was one of the nights where he was dressed in his finery, looking all too regal to be standing inside of Seonghwa’s old wooden office. The dress he wore today was simple; entirely black and high necked with long sleeves. The heavy fabric cascaded down his body to his feet where he once again wore heeled boots and slacks hidden underneath. Over top he wore a cape as long as the dress was and made of sheer fabric with the glittering patterns of stars and moons and suns decorating the back and hood. He looked delicate, he looked strong, he looked _royal_. 

“Hey, Seonghwa?” Hongjoong asked after a long moment where the two were just listening to the rustling of the other.

“Yes?” Seonghwa glanced up to see the prince not looking at him, “What is it, Hongjoong?” 

Hongjoong still didn’t look at Seonghwa, seeming slightly nervous. Seonghwa stood straight now, attention redirected to the younger. “Hongjoong?” 

The Prince wobbled on his toes for a moment, a cute habit Seonghwa had grown to adore over the time they had spent together. Sometimes it was easy to forget Hongjoong’s status in society as the man never acted as such around him. Around Seonghwa Hongjoong was just that- _Hongjoong_. “What’s it like working in the apothecary?” 

Seonghwa leaned against the desk, putting his weight in his hip and hand, as he studied the man. He wasn’t entirely convinced that that had been what was on Hongjoong’s mind, but he accepted it nonetheless. “Are you interested in it?” 

Hongjoong shrugged shyly, smiling softly to himself, still eyeing the desk, “I mean, it’s fascinating. It’s a dying art, that style of medicine. Specifically the crafting of medication rather than manufacturing it. I’m just fascinated, is all.” 

“Well, come with me and I’ll show you what it’s like.” Seonghwa offered, almost shyly. Hongjoong seemed to pause as though thinking over the words he had said before nodding and outstretching his arm. 

When Seonghwa stalled and only stared at the outstretched arm as though it were an entire mystery to him. Hongjoong sighed and rolled his eyes rather dramatically before crossing the small space and scooping Seonghwa’s arm into his own, cupping the man close to him. “Lead the way, Doctor.”

Seonghwa focused on the pathway there, ignoring the feeling of Hongjoong’s weight on his arm and how comfortably he fit within the crook of his elbow. Their shoulders brushed as they walked and Seonghwa found himself mumbling about the plants and shelving and small brewing station they would find in there. He described the way that this apothecary was small, much smaller than the one Doctor Seo had had at his training clinic, the one Seonghwa had learned in, but how this apothecary was what he felt most comfortable in. He spoke to fill the silence and keep himself grounded. This close to the Prince, Seonghwa could once again smell the faintly sharp zang of lemon buried beneath the sweetness of strawberries and it took everything in him to not lean closer and breathe slightly deeper. 

The apothecary was at the very end of the hallway and situated behind the back wall of the receptionists area. Windows lined one of the walls and allowed the faint rays of the setting sun to light the room in a warm but dim glow. Shelves upon shelves lined every wall of the room, some floating and some encased in glass and others set in bookshelves; each shelf was full of viles, jars, plants, books, mortar and pestle’s, and other small things necessary for the work done in here. In the center of the large rectangular room was a stone island workspace with neat yet disorganized papers and books and projects Seonghwa had abandoned halfway through. Seonghwa didn’t turn the light on as Hongjoong entered the room, it wasn’t quite necessary yet he thought, or maybe he just liked the way the light made Hongjoong’s features that much sharper. 

Hongjoong didn’t seem to mind the dim lighting, walking through the room with quiet steps and delicate fingers tracing plant leaves as he went. Seonghwa listed them off as he did so, describing the herbs and their purpose with a shaking voice. Something about this felt incredibly intimate in a way he hadn’t expected, hadn’t prepared for. He felt his skin prickle as he watched from the doorway as Hongjoong’s fingers graced every surface of the full room. He looked oddly at home with the ivy crawling overtop all of the shelving, as though he too were nothing but nature’s finest creation. 

As hongjoong reached the small stove on the exact opposite end of the room as the door, he turned around to look at Seonghwa. Seonghwa pulled the door shut then, feeling oddly vulnerable in the moment, the sound creating a tension that he couldn’t have described even if he had every word known to mankind stored away on his tongue. Hongjoong’s expression was unreadable from the distance and the lack of light, but he could feel the intensity of his eyes as though his hands were holding him against the door. 

There was a long moment where the two were simply looking at each other from across a secluded room, living in the silence of the plants and the stillness of the universe. Seonghwa couldn’t remember the last time he breathed, but for some reason that felt insignificant and unimportant as though he were forgetting something as simple as his childhood home address. In that moment all he could focus on was the being on the other side of the room existing in the same moment of time as he did, in the same single frozen moment full of nothing but plants and the scent of strawberries. 

Then, Hongjoong spoke, “It’s lovely in here.” The simple sentence melted the tension so quickly that it almost felt as though it hadn’t ever existed. 

Seonghwa coughed, clearing his throat, before moving across the room to join Hongjoong. The fading light changed the color of his seafoam green button down into something more faded, more vintage, and Hongjoong was eyeing the color as he approached, or at least that was what Seonghwa was assuming he was looking at. 

“Thank you,” Seonghwa said quietly, though he said everything quietly in the same reserved tone. “I like to spend whatever free time I have throughout my days here. I’ve never really spoken to the other doctor’s and now that I’m considered their boss it feels even odder to try and spend any time around them aside from the business meetings. So, I’ve always found this room to be my quiet and relaxing space.”

“What’s it like?” Hongjoong asked, then elaborated further as he realized his question had many answers, “To be trained in traditional medicine _and_ modern?”

Seonghwa’s smile was genuine, pulling his lips enough so his teeth barely showed and his cheeks rounded and Hongjoong followed the expression. “It’s nice,” He admitted, “Working with the plants and in the quiet is nice. I feel like there’s a wonderful balance to be found between the two. Modern medicine is rooted in traditional practices, however traditional practices weren’t _enough_. There’s a perfect balance between the two where they can support one another and provide the safest route of care.”

“What types of things can you make?” Hongjoong asked, fingers tapping an inconsistent rhythm on the stove, “Like what kinds of potions and stuff?” 

Seonghwa chuckled deep in his chest and nodded, “Why? Do you have any in mind that you’re curious about?” 

Hongjoong pursed his lips, eyeing the stove as he seemed to weigh his options, swaying just barely. He seemed to gain confidence, his head tilting up and making direct eye contact with Seonghwa once again, “What about love potions?”

Seonghwa’s mind stalled, caught on the words that fell from flower shaped lips. His breath was stuck in the hollows of his chest and his blood seemed to boil in a way that turned his body to nothing but mush beneath the red haired man’s gaze. Finally, Seonghwa swallowed and replied earnestly, “If you think you’d need a love potion for someone to fall in love with you, Prince, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Hongjoong seemed to absorb the words fully before a brilliant smile cradled his lips and once again Seonghwa wondered just what stars he held hostage to steal their grace. “You flatter me, Doctor,” Hongjoong’s voice was so light and teasing it cut through Seonghwa’s nerves easily, settling the heat in his body with perfect ease, “What about aphrodisiacs?” 

Seonghwa choked on his tongue slightly before laughing and rolling his eyes, reaching out and gently smacking the Prince in the arm. “Quit teasing,” He chastised and turned around, heading for the exit. He needed to create a physical space between him and the Prince. Hongjoong followed, however, falling in step behind him like a shadow. 

“If you make magical potions does that mean you're a witch?” Hongjoong’s voice was so amused, a laugh buried beneath every word, and it made Seonghwa’s heart shake in his chest. 

He stopped suddenly, the Prince almost crashing into his back before he turned around, tilting his chin down just slightly to look into the Prince’s eyes, “You can call it magic if you’d like,” He said thoughtfully, thumb coming up to rest on his chin, “However, I prefer thinking of it as science. It takes a lot of patience and time and precise abilities. Anyone can do it, but not everyone is _able_ to do it. Anyways, if you wish to label me a witch, that’s fine.”

Hongjoong swallowed thickly, Seonghwa watching the movement of his throat and feeling his own mouth dry suddenly, before he spoke with much less confidence and only the hint of a tremor to his words, “A witch doctor, nice.”

Seonghwa chuckled again, turning back around and heading for the exit. “Come along, Hongjoong. We will miss the sunset if we stay any longer.” 

\---  
Hongjoong bit the sheets, breath stuttering through his chest like wind through barren trees, face buried in his mattress in an attempt to keep himself quiet. He was hollowed, body fragile and shaking, the remnants of a house once tall but now burned down to the structure. He was torn apart from the inside out or possibly outside in, either way nothing of him was whole in the moment. 

He was on _fire_ , body straining and muscles cramping as he chased an end that he knew would be unsatisfying. He chased it anyways, begging for the momentarily relief as he attempted to sort his life together. For ages, his mind had been void of such a desire, forming half created partners that he never was able to fully visualize and led to less than satisfactory orgasms. Now, however, there was something he could fully fall into that would leave him less satisfied for far different reasons. He thought of lips shaped like rose petals clenched between sweet looking teeth, a tongue that darted out unconsciously and frequently. He thought of warm fingers with small callouses that handled him so gently he might as well have been made of glass. He thought of the overwhelming scent of tea and grass and something distinctly earthy. He thought of a thin waist and long legs and wide shoulders framed in neatly pressed dress shirts. He thought of a voice that came from a broad chest and he thought of the way it would sound cracking and in his ear. 

The sudden intrusion of the thought made him choke on a noise far too high in his throat to be safe, but the worry of Yunho standing outside hearing him was no longer at the forefront of his mind. It felt as though he were a ball of yarn unravelling only to be caught up in a spinning fan, falling apart only to be wound as tightly as before. 

His fingers gripped the sheets in his free hand far too lightly as his back and hips strained downwards and he realized too late that his jaw had slackened and a name was falling from his lips and into a quiet room. Later he would pray that only the paintings and the ghosts had heard him, but for now he merely suffocated himself under his pillow. His thigh slipped against the sheets as he moved and he nearly sobbed as his body careened over an edge he hadn’t meant to step up to. 

All too quickly his body became boneless and pleasantly warm as his mind attempted to bury what he had done in a box that he would shove into the closet in the recesses of his mind. He quickly worked compartmentalizing his actions and the shame attached to them as he rolled from beneath his blanket and onto the other side of the bed, the unsoiled fabric. Staring at the canopy of his bed, he felt the feeling combing back into his limbs and the thoughts returning to his mind.

_Well shit_ , he thought. He had failed at asking Seonghwa to become his own personal physician due to some unknown shyness that overcame him in the clinic, but _now_ it was going to be impossible to ask due to an overwhelming awkwardness. _Fuck_. 

\---  
Hongjoong was persistent if nothing else, Seonghwa thought. It was nearing the end of autumn when Hongjoong had broken Seonghwa down enough to convince the doctor to allow him to come over to his house. The trees outside were vibrant in shades of yellow and red, some already having shed their leaves for the year, and Hongjoong looked as though he fit amongst them perfectly with the way his red hair gleamed under a tired autumn sun. He stood on Seonghwa’s porch, beaming up at the doctor as he waited to be invited in, his guard remaining outside in their car with another as company. Seonghwa vaguely recognized that guard as one who had accompanied Hongjoong once or twice, but couldn’t pinpoint his name to save him. Hongjoong wore a thick, oversized sweater in a faded, burnt orange shade with comfortable looking jeans and looked every bit cozy as he did _pretty_.

“Are you going to invite me in or are you going to keep staring at me like I was unexpected?” Hongjoong’s tone was light and airy, teasing in the way that Hongjoong had perfected over the months. 

Seonghwa sighed, stepping backwards, and opening his arm into the house. Hongjoong stepped in and somewhere in Seonghwa’s chest he felt his nerves come alive at the idea that Hongjoong was going to be seeing the more personal aspects of his life. He felt oddly under dressed in his own home in old blue jeans and a slightly off-white tee shirt, a lightweight grey cardigan half draped over his shoulders; Hongjoong wasn’t dressed in anything particularly fancy, however the Prince seemed to make _anything_ look gilded. Seonghwa closed the door and his thoughts, instead moving to direct Hongjoong to the kitchen. 

“Would you like some tea?” Seonghwa asked as he headed through the first archway on the right of the entrance, “I’ve got all kinds.”

Hongjoong hummed, kicking off his shoes and following with quiet, padding footsteps. He sounded like Seonghwa’s cat, a thought that made him smile. “Yes please, I’ll have whatever your favorite is.” 

Seonghwa nodded to himself, already standing over the woodstove. The electric stove was tucked in the corner of the kitchen, meanwhile the wooden one sat next to the window on the far side of the open room, in between the area that would be considered the living room and dining room. In the winter, Seonghwa preferred making soups and stews and teas over top of the wood; something about it felt more _homey_ and warmed the house as much as it did his heart.

He hadn’t realized he had expressed such thoughts until Hongjoong responded to them directly, “That’s such a sweet reason.” Seonghwa glanced over his shoulder only to find Hongjoong hovering in the center of his living room eyeing his couch with faux interest in order to hide the way his cheeks were a shade darker than normal. Seonghwa found it as endearing as he did silly. “So, you live in a little cottage in the woods. I didn’t expect you to be a woodland witch.”

Hongjoong had gotten into the habit of calling Seonghwa a witch, ever since he had adventured the small clinic apothecary two weeks ago. Seonghwa didn’t find it offensive and often rather likened the term to one of endearment. Hongjoong clearly found the apothecary work interesting and Seonghwa clearly found _Hongjoong_ interesting. At this rate, Seonghwa thought that there wasn’t much Hongjoong could say or do that would offend him. 

“Well,” Seonghwa said slowly, “I like to keep some things a surprise.” 

Hongjoong seemed to read too far into the words he spoke because his eyes found Seonghwa again with a look that he wasn’t able to distinguish from the distance. Sometimes Hongjoong looked at him as though he were taking him apart and rebuilding him from scratch and other times he looked at him like he was recycling him entirely. There were times, though, that Hongjoong looked at him as though he had found the single most perfect creation and _those_ were the times Seonghwa couldn’t maintain his composure. He looked away quickly, looking at the kettle sitting on the stove and praying for it to boil faster. 

“The more you watch it, the longer it will take to boil.” Hongjoong said, far closer than Seonghwa had expected, the Doctor jumping in his skin in response. Seonghwa’s head whipped around to stare down at the Prince, their height difference noticeable now that the Prince wasn’t wearing his heels. 

Seonghwa licked his lip before stepping away from the Prince, creating a space between the two that he needed in order to function. “How about some cookies with our tea?” Seonghwa didn’t wait for a response before turning on his socked foot and practically sliding over to the cupboard where he kept the cookies he had baked. They were small, plain sugar cookies with just enough sweetness to taste nice with unsweetened tea. It was Seonghwa’s favorite way to serve the drink when he wasn’t planning on crawling into bed after. 

He shuffled past Hongjoong again to take the plate to the small table in front of the couch, ignoring the Prince momentarily as his mind began to fully absorb the situation he was in. Hongjoong was alone with him in his house wearing comfortable clothing and preparing to sit down and _chat_. Seonghwa couldn’t remember a time where their relationship was strictly professional, however he hadn’t expected it to go _this_ far. Seonghwa’s hand shook slightly as he set the plate down, but if Hongjoong noticed the wobbling clatter, he didn’t mention it. As Seonghwa straightened up, the familiar sound of the kettle just _barely_ beginning to whistle reached his ears, so he hurried to the kitchen to gather the mugs and tea. 

“My favorite is a jasmine white tea blend,” Seonghwa explained, scooping the loose leaves and small bits of dried fruit into the strainers, “It’s got peaches and cherries in it, along with spearmint and lavender.” 

“That sounds delicious,” Hongjoong said as the kettle whistled a little louder, “Where do you buy it?” 

Seonghwa hurried over, grabbing the kettle and smiling shyly as he did so, “I make it myself.”

Hongjoong looked impressed, but Seonghwa didn’t remain long enough to see, quickly moving back to the counter with the mugs and pouring the water over the bulbous strainers that stayed sunk to the bottom of the mug as it steeped. Seonghwa put the kettle back and gestured to the couch, “Have a seat.” He didn’t wait for Hongjoong to sit to grab the mugs, but he could hear the obedient shuffle of the Prince as he gathered their drinks.

When the two were finally seated on the couch together, it wasn’t far from each other, but it wasn’t close either. There was enough space between the two that there _could_ be a third person, but not comfortably. Seonghwa didn’t know if he wanted to move further from or closer to the Prince, so he stayed rooted where he was. The Prince seemed to be lost in a thought deeper than Seonghwa’s presence could cut through, so he took the moment to appreciate the jewelry lining the Prince's ear. In his conch there was a star shaped jewelry piece matching the moon dangling from his first lobe and the stars hanging from his second and third lobe, the third connecting to a cartilage piercing that wrapped around the shell of his ear with a loose gold chain. It was elegant, it was pretty, it felt like nights spent watching the stars, it felt like _Hongjoong_.

“Hey, Seonghwa?” Hongjoong asked after a long moment of the two sitting in comfortable silence as the tea cooled on the table. Surely it would over-steep soon, but Seonghwa was finding that that bothered him less than it should have. Time with Hongjoong felt irrelevant. He could remake the tea, he could drink cold tea, he could sit in silence and spend a whole night doing nothing _but_ sit in silence. It didn’t matter. The moment Hongjoong was around, it was comfortable, it was peaceful, it was _happy_. Seonghwa could do anything while around Hongjoong and find it to be pleasant. 

“Yeah?” Seonghwa asked, busying himself with removing the steeping tea strainers and setting them in the small bowl he kept on the table just for that purpose.

Hongjoong reached for his mug and only when it was secured in delicate fingers did he speak again. “Do you want your own apothecary?”

It didn’t sound like the question Hongjoong had wanted to ask, a hesitation in his voice that Seonghwa had come to recognize as him avoiding subjects he didn’t want to address. Still, it sounded like a genuinely curious question so he figured he would entertain the Prince for now. “Maybe someday when I’m no longer at the clinic. I would like to run an apothecary with everything I need, with plants from my garden, ones I grew by hand on my own. I would very much like to build it up as entirely mine as an extension of myself, almost like a physical manifestation of the knowledge I earned through my life. Does that make sense?” 

Hongjoong nodded, eyes locked on the tea in his hands. Seonghwa thought he wasn’t going to respond, so he turned his own attention to his cooling drink, sipping slightly. “Then one day I will ensure that you have just that.” 

Seonghwa paused, ceramic pressed against his lips and the aroma of the tea filling his senses. He lowered the mug from his lips, the rim hovering at his chin as he looked to Hongjoong with prying eyes. “Are you implying you will give me my fantasy apothecary?”

Hongjoong looked up then, eyes so intense it almost made Seonghwa choke on his tongue. “That’s is exactly what I am implying, Doctor.” Seonghwa simply sipped his tea.

Somehow during their time on the couch letting the tea cool in forgotten hands, Hongjoong had convinced Seonghwa to take him on a tour of his garden- not that it had taken a lot of convincing. If Seonghwa was being honest, he found that Hongjoong was able to convince him of most things within mere sentences. He hung a little too closely to the Prince’s every word despite his better judgement.

Still, he found himself standing in his garden with Hongjoong, standing in the center of the small and pretty mosaic made of colorful seashells and glass set within cement in the center of his yard. “This is where I usually come to do yoga or sunbathe or whatever,” Seonghwa finished lamely as he watched the Prince admire the colors. Once the Prince looked back up to him, Seonghwa pointed around the garden, making small commentary as he explained each section. He pointed out his vegetable squares, the herb pots, and the beds of flowers. He paused on the strawberry patch that grew underneath his bedroom window and laughed, “In the summer, that’s where _you_ would belong.” 

Hongjoong’s expression was bemused as he looked at the unassuming broad leaves and back to Seonghwa several times. He didn’t look too confused, rather intrigued by the Doctor’s comment. “What do you mean, Doctor?” 

“It’s my strawberry patch,” Seonghwa said with a broad smile, and maybe he was crossing an unspoken line drawn in sand, but he was already stepping over by the time his mind caught up with his mouth, “You’re just a little strawberry.”

Hongjoong seemed to blush, but Seonghwa chalked it up to the chill of the air as he played with the hems of his sweater sleeves. “I’m not _little_.”

“Sometimes you are.” Seonghwa said quietly, but turned before he could see Hongjoong’s reaction, “Let’s go look at the autumn blooming flowers.” 

“So, he just,” Hongjoong paused, bending over with wide inquisitive eyes, “Lives here?” 

Seonghwa laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest and out of his nose, arms crossed as he watched Hongjoong admire Milo sleeping contently on the bed. “Yes,” He said when Hongjoong glared at him over his shoulder, “Yes, he just _lives_ here. Are you not familiar with the concept of a pet?” 

Hongjoong straightened his back, standing rather eloquently poised as though he were attempting to regain some kind of composure. “I’m familiar with _idea of pets_ , we just don’t get to have them in the castle.” Hongjoong sounded almost sad at the admission, frown tugging his lips slightly downwards, “All of our _pets_ are outdoors- our horses, the cats. We have dogs that stay in the castle, but they make rounds considering they’re more _guards_ than pets.”

“They all sound like servants,” Seonghwa said, mirroring Hongjoong’s slight sadness. 

“Yeah,” He sighed in agreement, eyeing Milo again, “The barn cats run as quickly as they can when they see a person and the dogs don’t really let us pet them. One of our maids raised rabbits one year when I was young but it turns out they were for meat and I had a complete breakdown because I thought they were pets, so my mother said no more rabbits after that.” 

“That sounds lonely,” Seonghwa said before he could stop himself and Hongjoong’s stiffness wasn’t lost on him. Seonghwa took a step forward, coming into the room a bit more and nearing Hongjoong’s space, “Well, Milo is a lazy oaf. He doesn’t do much of anything besides sleep and eat and knock my jars off the counter when I’m cooking. He also very much likes it when you scratch his head and neck, sometimes he likes belly pats but only if he’s laying on his side, otherwise he wraps around your arm and bites, but they’re very lazy bites. He’s a very lazy cat is the point I’m making and if you’d like to, you can spend whatever time you want with him.” 

Seonghwa knew he sounded shy and he knew he was stumbling over the words he was saying, but when Hongjoong looked at him with something equivalent to absolute fondness, he couldn’t find it in him to mind. 

“Thank you, Seonghwa,” He said finally, “That is an incredibly sweet offer from you.” 

Seonghwa swallowed before nodding slowly, “That does mean you would have to come over again.” 

Hongjoong hummed, looking back to Milo, who had stretched and rolled onto his side, gazing up lazily with heavy green eyes. Hongjoong took a step forward and ruffled the soft black hair on his forehead, the cat immediately purring and curving into his fingers. “That would be such a shame.”

Hongjoong wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from Seonghwa’s house, but what he found was that it suited the doctor incredibly well. Everything was mismatched in a way that flowed together nicely in every shade of the rainbow, all eclectic and vintage and cottage-y. The house was small, a two story home with an open plan bottom level with archways connecting the three segments of the entire bottom and three rooms upstairs hidden behind heavy and intricate wood doors. Seonghwa had explained that one room was his home office, the other a guest and storage room, and the final was his. The ceilings on the upper floor were slanted and caused his bedroom to be a pyramid shape with odd windows and a skylight. He had decorated the entire house with plants and pots and beautiful vases, the walls a soft yellow with dark cherry wood trim breaking up the patterns. Quilts and throws and soft pillows were thrown on every sitting area and under every large window was somewhere to curl up with a book or the cat and enjoy the view of the garden and forest surrounding the home.

It felt entirely like _Seonghwa_ in a way he hadn’t expected; it felt like the side of himself that was repressed in the clinic, not for professionalism but for a lack of comfort. It felt like the last missing puzzle piece to Seonghwa’s personality and Hongjoong _loved_ it.

Hongjoong found that he really didn’t want to leave the place, didn’t want to leave the feeling of being entirely engulfed in everything that made Seonghwa _Seonghwa_.

So he didn’t, not yet at least. 

Night had fallen over the forest outside, but Seonghwa and Hongjoong were still wrapped in each other’s presence. Seonghwa at some point had curled himself in a blanket on the couch, knees tucked to his chest while he flipped through a book. Hongjoong sat with Milo on the end of the couch, enraptured in the feeling of the cat sleeping on his lap. It felt comfortable, it felt _nice_ to just sit with Seonghwa in a moment like this. Hongjoong hadn’t felt this peaceful in a _very_ long time. 

“Hey, Seonghwa?” He asked, finally deciding to broach the topic that had been the purpose of the trip. 

Seonghwa hummed his response, eyes still locked on the pages of his book. Hongjoong watched as his graceful fingers brushed his lips before they turned the page, and he watched as his diamond shaped eyes trailed the print. Hongjoong thought that he could simply watch Seonghwa like that for the rest of the night. When it became evident that Hongjoong was no longer going to continue, Seonghwa finally glanced up, fingers lodging between the pages of the novel to keep his place. “Yes? Hongjoong, what’s on your mind?” 

Hongjoong chewed on his lip and let his fingers wind back into Milo’s fur to distract himself. “Seonghwa, are you happy at the clinic? Are you happy running it?” He added the last half for clarification, unsure if it was necessary or not. 

Seonghwa took a long moment of time before he let out a strained chuckle, one that wasn’t quite as mirthful as it should be, “That’s a loaded question with a lot of answers, Hongjoong. You sure know how to pick conversation starters.”

Hongjoong looked up shyly, a small smile on his lips, “I’m just curious, is all.”

Seonghwa seemed to ponder his options before he shrugged and closed his novel fully. “Not in the way I ever thought I would be,” He answered honestly, eyes downcast and his free arm wrapped loosely around his knees. “I always loved medicine and helping people. After Doctor Seo left the clinic, though, I started to feel as though I was growing bored of medicine. Doctor Seo was a crotchety old man, sure, but he kept it interesting and he knew how to motivate me. Additionally, the stress of being the one left in charge during his leave was unexpected and honestly a lot to handle. Once he died, I just no longer felt as though any of it was worth it. There’s so much paperwork and so many clients who just _don’t listen_ despite the fact that they are _requesting_ my presence. Doctor Seo seemed to have only the hardest of patients.”

Hongjoong couldn’t help the quiet giggle that bubbled in his throat, “ _I_ was his patient.”

“I know,” Seonghwa huffed, straightening a single leg to gently kick his thigh, “You are one of _the_ most annoying patients.” 

“ _Annoying_?” Hongjoong exclaimed, grasping at his chest, “ _How_ am _I_ annoying?” 

“Oh, to count the ways,” Seonghwa sighed, almost dramatically, “You showed up after closing to demand I see you after you missed your appointment, then you rescheduled only to show up to my office daily. Then you feigned illnesses in order to get appointments to see me. Oh, and you’re in my house.” 

Hongjoong laughed at the last one, poking at Seonghwa’s foot that still rested against the side of his thigh through the blanket, “I heard that doctor’s don’t make house calls anymore. I figured I would change the narrative a little bit.” Seonghwa let himself chuckle and Hongjoong watched with rapt attention as the smile lingered on his lips before slipping into something almost contemplative. Something bubbled in his chest just under his skin, a tingling feeling that he could almost relate to nervousness, “What?”

“You, Prince,” Seonghwa finally sighed, head tilting just slightly, “Are one of the better things to have come from taking over Doctor Seo’s clinic.”

The honesty in his tone, the pure sincerity of his words, left Hongjoong’s heart stuttering as his skin heated. Milo had crawled from his lap during the exchange and had disappeared, leaving Hongjoong nothing to fidget with and express his sudden flustered nature. “Seonghwa, would you like to become my full time physician?” Hongjoong finally spat the question out, the moment finally feeling _right_. It wasn’t the one he was intending on asking, wasn’t the _true_ position that Hongjoong wanted to offer him, but it was a start. 

“What do you mean?” Seonghwa asked after a beat and Hongjoong finally looked back to him, not having realized he had ever looked away. 

“I mean,” He said, licking his lips and speaking with a little more confidence than before, attempting to channel his inner royalty, “I am offering you a position as my own personal doctor. You would move your office and workspace into the castle. If you wanted, you could attend to the servants as well, I’m sure my mother’s doctor would appreciate the assistance, however your first line of care would be myself.”

Seonghwa seemed frozen in time for a solid half minute before inhaling deeply and exhaling shakily. “That’s quite the offer, Prince. May I take some time to consider it?” 

“Of course,” Hongjoong said quickly, hands fluttering vaguely, “Take all the time you need. It’s not a requirement. If you say no, I’ll still be your patient at the clinic and I’ll still come and visit. It would change nothing if you declined.” 

Seonghwa accepted that graciously, a small lingering on his lips that told Hongjoong that the question wasn’t as out of line as he feared. 

The night ended when Seonghwa yawned while Hongjoong played with his hair. Hongjoong wasn’t sure when they had switched positions or when Seonghwa had gotten close enough that Hongjoong _could_ play with his hair, but he had been sifting his fingers through the soft strands when he realized how late it was. 

“It’s nearly midnight,” Hongjoong said, apologetically, “I really should head home now. I’m sorry for keeping you up so late.” 

Seonghwa merely smiled as he peeled himself away from the Prince and stood, dropping the quilt on the couch. “Your company was lovely,” His tone was soothing and warm and it tasted like chamomile and honey on Hongjoong’s lips, “It’s welcome anytime for as long as you are willing to stay.”

Hongjoong grinned up at him, still seated, “Careful, Doctor,” He said cheekily, “You’ll have a housemate before you can rescind the offer.” 

Seonghwa laughed, throaty and warm, and offered Hongjoong his hand without a word. Hongjoong accepted the assistance and curled his fingers around Seonghwa’s as they meandered towards the front door. Hongjoong didn’t release his grasp until he was sliding on his shoes and if Seonghwa minded, he didn’t mention it. 

When Seonghwa reached for the door handle, it was around Hongjoong, the other man suddenly far closer than he was before. Hongjoong found himself encapsulated once more with the scent of tea and earth and everything made _sense_. “I understand now.” 

Hongjoong hadn’t realized he had spoken the thought aloud until Seonghwa paused, expression confused. “Understand what?” 

Seonghwa was _close_. Hongjoong could see the flecks of gold and black in his brown irises that shimmered underneath the yellowish and dim artificial lighting, he could see the pores on his nose and the individual eyebrow hairs and the way that his eyelashes curved downwards. He could see the small details that added up to the big details and Hongjoong felt himself slowly losing his skeleton the longer he admired the unnoticeable traits about the man. “Things are just making sense now,” He said finally, voice much lower than before, catching in his throat as he swallowed dryly, “You always smell like tea and now I know it’s your favorite one and sometimes I smell something earth-y and that also makes sense, it’s the days where you’ve had time for your garden. You’re so soft-handed and sweet and I think it’s because you’re used to taking care of Milo and delicate plants. I just-” 

Hongjoong couldn’t finish, not when Seonghwa’s eyes were studying him the way they were currently. There was something _there_ again, something that Hongjoong could feel in the pit of his stomach. He felt heat rush through his neck and face at the memory of what he had done weeks ago to the image of Seonghwa and what he had begun doing _regularly_ to the image of Seonghwa. _That_ tension was back, the one he could feel in his knees and in his stomach and that made his brain feel as though he had injected it with molasses. He hadn’t ever experienced _this_. It was entirely foreign to him and he made a note to himself to bring the topic up to Yunho at some point when the two were alone. 

Seonghwa’s tongue darted out across his lips and Hongjoong watched the movement with careful eyes. Seonghwa seemed tense, as though he were once again reigning in some sort of action, forcing himself to maintain a composure that Hongjoong almost wanted to see him lose. 

Finally, Seonghwa spoke, though it did little to dispel the heaviness covering the two, “You will certainly be the death of me one day, _Your Highness_.” Seonghwa was close enough that his breath had brushed over Hongjoong’s face and combined with the words he had spoken, Hongjoong felt his knees shudder as he struggled to find purchase against the doorjamb. Seonghwa had yet to break eye contact as the two built the moment with bricks and cement and Hongjoong could do nothing but get trapped inside. He was hot, _so hot_ , it wasn’t plausible for the temperature of the house and the weather outside, but Hongjoong felt as though he were sunbathing in the peak of summer. Seonghwa seemed to be studying him in a way that made Hongjoong feel _seen_. Then, Seonghwa said thoughtfully, “The stars are watching.”

“And what are they seeing?” Hongjoong wasn’t sure how to respond, wasn’t entirely sure what Seonghwa had _meant_ , but he couldn’t pull himself back down from the airy feeling encompassing him, couldn't retreat no matter how hard he tried. Hongjoong was floating away and Seonghwa was the one removing gravity. 

“They’re seeing a tired prince and an equally tired doctor.” And just as quickly as it had appeared, the feeling was gone and Hongjoong was back in his body. Time seemed to catch up suddenly and he yawned before he could cover his mouth, blinking wetly several times. Seonghwa chuckled and turned the door knob, stepping back from the Prince, “It’s well past our bed times, Prince. It’s time for you to head home and get some sleep.”

Hongjoong blushed but bid him a goodnight. Despite Seonghwa’s _sleep well, Prince_ that followed him out the door, Hongjoong slept very little that night. Unbeknownst to him, across town in that little cottage, Seonghwa did very little sleeping of his own. 

\---  
By the time Seonghwa makes his decision, the leaves have almost entirely fallen from the trees and the air is too crisp to breathe in for long. Hongjoong had come over to Seonghwa’s house multiple times since, bundled in scarves and coats and complaining every time. Seonghwa would merely smile and shuffle the Prince inside. 

Today was no different, the Prince arriving in black dress pants and a long teal colored trench coat, black gloves and hat and scarf keeping his more fragile parts warm. Hongjoong no longer knocked when he entered Seonghwa’s house, simply shoved the door open and kicked off his boots at the entrance. “Seonghwa?” He called to the empty house. The kitchen lights were off and the library and sitting room were desolate when Hongjoong peered around the corner. Seonghwa had called him before his work had ended and said that he had made his decision and invited him over, so Hongjoong knew that he was somewhere within the house walls. 

Quietly, he padded up the stairs that were directly in front of the door, passing the oil paintings and childhood photos Seonghwa hung along the staircase walls. Hongjoong was familiar now with his home, having visited it _enough_ times within the past month since his first visit. Seonghwa and he rarely went to the bridge nowadays, the weather threatening frostbite when they foolishly would ignore the bitter cold. 

“Seonghwa?” He asked out loud again once he landed on the upper floor, the wood beneath him creaking only slightly. Hongjoong liked the fact that his home was wood and warm- the castle was mostly stone and brick and cement, leaving the environment cold and sterile. 

The lights to the other rooms were out, but light crept out from underneath his bedroom door, so Hongjoong figured that was the last place to check. Momentarily, he wondered if Seonghwa could be outside, but then he scratched that from his mind; it was freezing outside, the grass and moss crisp under his shoes, and the sky was pitch black, a blanket of stars already watching the planet with fascination. If Seonghwa was outside, Hongjoong would have to question his sanity. With the affirmation in his mind, he knocked on the door and creaked it open. He felt like a skipping record as he spoke again, “Seonghwa?” 

There was a startled noise as Hongjoong finally made it past the door and froze. Seonghwa was stood shirtless in his room, hair towel dried and shirt clung in his hand. He was wearing brown sweatpants, ones that were baggy but somehow just made his legs look longer, and Hongjoong could see the band of his underwear peeking over the top and framing well defined hips. _That_ was unfortunately the next thing he noticed; the Doctors stomach was smooth, abs carved into his abdomen with the fine stroke of a careful pen and his chest was just as well defined. Everything about him was lean and smooth and all soft lines with deep concaves. Hongjoong suddenly wasn’t sure where to look considering he was unable to look away from the man himself, but he also felt as though he definitely shouldn’t be staring at the half-dressed man. 

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa choked out finally, pulling his black tee shirt on and Hongjoong watched with a mixture between relief and disappointment as it covered his skin entirely. “You’re early.” 

“I’m not,” Hongjoong corrected, finally gather his wits and cocking his head, “You just lost track of time again.”

Seonghwa shrugged, “I’ll stick with you being early.” 

“I’m a Prince, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong turned his nose upwards and crossed his arms, “ _I_ decide the time and _you_ follow it.” 

Seonghwa laughed heartily, eyes creasing and chest vibrating, “Yes, Your Highness, my apologies.” Hongjoong had never stopped reacting to the way Seonghwa said _Your Highness_ ; the shiver it sent through his body with the oddly patronizing implications was something he found he couldn’t escape. “You’re still in your coat and gloves. Allow me to take them and we can go have some tea while we chat.” 

Seonghwa had crossed the room while speaking and stood in front of Hongjoong, hand out expectantly. Hongjoong responded by placing his gloved hand in Seonghwa’s, figuring he would tease the man some more. Seonghwa seemed to predict this, though, and instead simply wrapped Hongjoong’s hand in his own and used his free hand to gently pull the fingers of the glove. Slowly, he slid the glove from Hongjoong’s hand with both of his own and then held his hand out readily for the other. Seonghwa was speaking during his movements, something about a client and the ridiculous time he had had attempting to get them to listen to him, but Hongjoong was entirely focused on the way that Seonghwa moved him so gently, so easily. 

When his gloves were off, Seonghwa tucked them into his sweatpants pocket and tugged the hat from Hongjoong’s head and slowly unravelled the scarf from his neck. Hongjoong stared at his throat as he did so, the Doctor far too close for him to be able to think rationally or focus on anything except _him_. Listening to his voice this close wasn’t helping the airiness of his head, either, the tone light but the weight of his words settling low in Hongjoong’s stomach as his breath brushed his hair and face. 

Seonghwa draped the accessories over his shoulder as he worked on the buttons to Hongjoong’s jacket and if he noticed the way that Hongjoong trembled slightly, he made no indications. Hongjoong watched his hands, watched his fingers, watched the way that they moved so deftly that the buttons were undone faster than he could have ever done on his own. Then, Seonghwa stepped closer and slid the jacket down his arms, Hongjoong doing absolutely nothing to assist the man. Hongjoong was certain it brushed the ground but he had no thoughts towards his clothing, simply watched as the taller man bent his knees in order to slide the coat from him without him moving. 

Seonghwa was still talking and Hongjoong wondered if it was to distract himself or to distract Hongjoong, but either way it _worked_. 

Just as quickly as he had come, Seonghwa made another cavernous space between the two, quickly exiting his room and heading for the stairs. He knew Hongjoong would follow and Hongjoong did exactly as he had expected. Seonghwa was faster, though, and had made it to the coat rack by the door before Hongjoong had even finished the descent. By the time Hongjoong’s feet hit the bottom floor, Seonghwa was already in the kitchen preparing the tea. Hongjoong took his seat on the couch, curling up underneath one of the fuzzy orange throws Seonghwa kept there, engulfing himself in the scent of tea and soap that hung in the house. Hongjoong wore a simple black turtleneck underneath the coat, having decided something casual was more than appropriate for visiting Seonghwa on a trip he knew would end with the two curled up on the couch.

The nights always ended the same: the two pressed far too close together to be considered professional and just enjoying each other's company; whether that be while watching a movie or reading separate books or occasionally napping, it was always just comfortable companionship. 

Hongjoong was still warm from everything that had happened; he had yet to see so much of the Doctor’s skin, the man rarely even wearing short sleeved shirts around him, so to see him entirely shirtless was slightly shocking. Hongjoong was still unable to quit thinking of the way his body curved and the way that he was made of nothing but smooth lines and a complete lack of harshness anywhere on him. Seonghwa was made of the auras of stars; the soft light with a strong impact. He was made to be comforting, to be beautiful, to be inviting, to be _admired_. Hongjoong was slowly finding himself more and more enraptured by the man. 

Seonghwa interrupted his thoughts as he shuffled over with two cups of steaming tea and a forgiving smile on his lips. “It’s cranberry and a red berry assortment black tea tonight. I made this over the summer and I hope you like it.”

Hongjoong inhaled the slightly bitter and deep, yet sweet and aromatic scent before humming contentedly. “It smells incredible, Seonghwa.” 

Seonghwa seemed relieved as he tucked his feet up to his butt and curled into the crook of the arm and back of the couch. Seonghwa liked to be cradled, Hongjoong noticed, and he wondered just how nicely he would fit against his own chest. Hongjoong cursed himself, dragging himself away from such a thought. 

“So,” He said finally to get himself away from the thoughts his mind would inevitably trail down, “You said you had made a decision?” 

Seonghwa smiled softly into his dark tea, eyes looking fond as his fingers took turns tapping an unheard rhythm. After a beat, he nodded and looked up at Hongjoong through his eyelashes, “I think I would like to accept, under the condition that I don’t have to live on site.” 

Hongjoong nodded quickly, almost splashing his tea everywhere in his eagerness. After embarrassingly having to calm himself down with a deep sigh and a tighter grip, he nodded again in a more controlled manner, “If that’s what would make you comfortable, I see no problem with you living here still. You’d just have to spend your full working day at the castle.”

Seonghwa smiled, something genuine that reached the apples of his cheeks and curved his eyes, and Hongjoong felt as though he were spiralling but in the best way possible. He could get lost in the way that Seonghwa seemed to positively glow when his expression changed from that of polite indifference. “Then I have no problem accepting. It will take a bit for me to transfer ownership over to Doctor Seo’s children and also for me to gather my things, but I will get to working on that.”

Hongjoong felt himself tremble in the urge to resist throwing himself at the other man. It was _exciting_ to say the least, to have someone he recently considered to be his favorite company now accepting to be around him _daily_. Hongjoong attempted to cover the grin on his face with his mug, sipping the tea with tight lips and warm chest. Seonghwa definitely noticed, definitely saw the unadulterated joy radiating off of the Prince, though he said nothing. Seonghwa only smiled into his own mug, looking more content now than he had since Hongjoong had met him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed and i'll see you in the next chapter<3<3<3<3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/MidnightPasses)  
> [CC](https://curiouscat.me/MidnightPasses?t=156572385)


	4. Flare Guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Loving you is danger, but it don’t feel wrong._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello~~~~ this is a beast of a chapter lol i'm so sorry that it's so long but there was no where nice to cut it into a separate chapter. 
> 
> if you want a little ~bonus~ vibe to the story, google the meaning of each flower/plant as you go. it's kinda cute if i do say so myself! anyways i please enjoy as we finally get to see Seonghwa stepping into the nickname _Dragon Doctor_. 
> 
> [Flare Guns](https://open.spotify.com/track/7cM9Kqto11iJpY2RwgVJSq?si=cQ-Hh6mRQnm_nfGyPkiUIQ) by Quinn XCII ft Chelsea Cutler

The transition into working for Hongjoong and _only_ Hongjoong was quicker than Seonghwa had expected. Doctor Seo’s children were eager to take over the business and Seonghwa was eager to let them. It had taken less than a month to complete everything, including his office movement.

The first day of his new job, the sky was steel grey and dripping flakes of pure white onto the ground like specks of the heavens falling. Seonghwa watched from his new office as the ground slowly was dusted in a light layer of white. He was grateful that the weather waited until he finished his move, otherwise he knew he would’ve been far too stressed for his health.

The castle sat in the middle of a field, surrounded on one side by the neverending forest and a river on the other, a large circumference of an unimaginably huge garden guarding the castle from both and encased in tall white brick walls with wrought iron spears. Seonghwa was absolutely amazed by the structure; a traditional white stone castle built with a brutalism theme, pristine and spotless yet covered with ivy and rose bushes that were dead at this time of year and nothing more than the climbing veins of the monolith. The inside of the castle was all marble and jagged grey stone and red velvet curtains and ancient looking decor; a storybook setting that Seonghwa felt more than slightly out of place in. Seonghwa hadn’t seen a majority of the castle, but the parts he _had_ seen were exactly what he had expected, exactly the image he had conjured of the castle from childhood till present. Seonghwa also found it rather appealing that the castle wasn’t as far from his house as the clinic was, the trip being at least half the time and entirely country travel- no winding city streets and traffic and crowds. 

Seonghwa was liking the change, sighing heavily with a warm content feeling overtaking his chest and fogging the window. His reflection was blurred from the condensation, but he felt as though he could see himself clearer now more than ever. 

“I hope that was a happy sound, Doctor.” A familiarly cheerful voice said from the doorway to his office, chirping in lieu of the birds that had already migrated away. Seonghwa wasn’t surprised to hear the voice or the sudden appearance of a guest. Yunho had become a staple around him, helping him move and set up his office- he was grateful for the guards presence if he was honest, the man always lingering close by like a discarded shard of sunlight.

He turned away from the window to look at the peach haired guard, smiling softly to him. Yunho was the human equivalent to a big puppy; he was much taller than Seonghwa, broad and muscular as well, with rounded features and dark eyes that made him look so much younger than he was, wearing an unceasing smile that Seonghwa thought he stole from the sun. Seonghwa understood quickly why Yunho was Hongjoong’s favorite guard and the closest to what he could consider his best friend, his presence so warm and amicable that it felt as though Yunho could never be considered a stranger. 

“Yes, Yunho,” Seonghwa replied stepping towards his desk to fiddle with the trinkets he kept there, “It was a happy sound.” 

Yunho grinned broadly, toothy and goofy, and walked into the room to place a potted plant on the desk. The plant didn’t look out of place, but it did look rather odd to watch Yunho and his intentionally careful hands setting it there. “I came to bring you a gift, though it’s not from me.” Yunho was so casual about it Seonghwa almost didn’t think it was anything important until he studied the long ivy limbs. Yunho played with one of the leaves, gently fiddling with it as though the plant would appreciate the attention, and then supplied with a heavy mind, “It’s a Morning-Glory.”

Seonghwa’s eyes were locked on the closed white flowers curled in long strips and tucked beneath broad heart shaped leaves. He knew of these flowers, knew of their meanings, and had often found himself entirely in love with the plants. It was odd, he thought, to suddenly be gifted such a familiar yet foreign plant. “Also known as a Moonflower.”

Yunho just continued to watch him as he gently stroked the leaves and sleeping flowers, humming softly as he seemed to connect all of his information together. “I figured there’d be some meaning to it,” He said finally, tone not curious but rather all too informed, “Hongjoong didn’t really specify what the purpose was, just that you would understand.” 

Seonghwa’s tongue was heavy, but he managed to look up to the man and explain in a slightly breathless voice, “Moonflowers are sacred amongst traditional doctors. They only bloom at night and therefore became a sort of symbol to us for finding the light in the dark, for finding what seems impossible. It’s awfully cheesy if you think too much about it, but the fact that Hongjoong has sent me this-” Seonghwa stopped when Yunho raised his eyebrows, suddenly feeling inexplicably flustered. Seonghwa looked back to the plant, “It means a lot.”

“Not to mention you guys hang out a lot at night.” Yunho’s tone was awfully suggestive and it only made the fluttering feeling in his chest bloom deeper. “Well, anyways, I’m glad you like it. He seemed kind of nervous and didn’t want to give it to you directly.”

Seonghwa smiled softly to himself, enjoying the image of the Prince becoming too shy in his bold actions. “Well, you can tell him I’m grateful for the gift.” 

“Or you could tell him yourself?” Yunho offered, tone just as suggestive as before as he wobbled on his toes innocently. He looked like a puppy who had stolen a shoe, Seonghwa thought, entertained and entirely too proud about it. “He’s not busy- he’s just pacing about his room.”

Seonghwa hadn’t intended on accepting the offer, but his body moved before his mind did and suddenly he was following Yunho through the never ending turns of the castle and up grand staircases and open floors. The trip was a blur of Seonghwa’s mind stuck to the closed blooms of pristine white flowers and the weighted meaning behind the gift that he was certain didn’t escape the Prince. 

Yunho stopped at the far corner of the castle at a door set into the wall after they had finished scaling the staircase, “Just go up the stairs and down the hallway, his room is the only door there is up there, I promise you won’t get lost.” 

“You’re not coming up?” Seonghwa asked, slightly confused as he watched the guard get comfortable against the wall.

Yunho smirked, crossing his arms and shrugging, his broad chest puffed in an amused manner. “It seems as though you’ll want some privacy.”

Seonghwa’s neck burned with the accusation but he ducked through the doorway quickly instead of facing Yunho’s all too weighted gaze. It was as though he was able to sniff out every thought the Doctor had and it made him slightly nervous.

Inside he was encased in a stone tube of sorts, a spiral staircase leading up to the next floor, the air chilled from the bare stone it was made of, several arched windows breaking up the patterns the further he rose. As Seonghwa climbed the stairs he realized the Prince lived in a room the size of his house in a castle spire- it felt more intimidating the longer he climbed and by the time he reached the last turn of the case, he felt butterflies ready to fly out of his mouth. 

Still, he looked straight ahead at the short hallway with a comfortable looking bench and desk area overlooking a window that he presumed was the guards to work at while protecting the Prince. There were metal bars on the windows and that struck an odd cord within Seonghwa and he wondered once again if life were providing him ironic metaphors he was only _just_ unable to understand. 

The door to Hongjoong’s room was intricate, hand-carved heavy wood with etchings of the globe on its surface, along with multiple stars and compasses and a single butterfly motif at the apex of the top of the door. Seonghwa knocked a quiet rhythm before his nerves swallowed his confidence and waited on baited breath. The door swung open to reveal an equally nervous looking Hongjoong wearing an oversized button down shirt that swung around his thighs and hands with socks on his feet and nothing else from what Seonghwa could tell. His hair was ruffled and he looked as though he had been taking a nap, but his nervous energy led Seonghwa to believe otherwise. “ _Seonghwa_ ,” The Prince simply said his name and never followed it up with anything afterwards- a minute expression of his surprise, laced with many emotions that Seonghwa couldn’t pinpoint, or at least was unwilling to pinpoint in the moment. 

“You gave me a Moonflower,” Seonghwa said in lieu of a greeting, watching as the Prince became visibly shy enough to play with the hems of his cuffs, dainty looking fingers emerging from the fabric. “Hongjoong, that was the sweetest gift I’ve received from anyone.”

Hongjoong shuffled into his room, a silent invitation that Seonghwa accepted and shut the door behind himself. “I know what you’re thinking,” Hongjoong said, toes bumping as he fiddled in place. He didn’t look like a Prince here, he looked like _Hongjoong_ and that somehow made everything feel more overwhelming for Seonghwa. The room was suffocating, but in a manner that made Seonghwa feel as though he were learning to breathe in a new way. “I know the meaning to traditional medicine, and yeah, that was part of it, but there’s more.” Seonghwa didn’t speak, merely watched the fidgeting Prince with open and understanding eyes. “A lot of the time when I think of you, I think of the night.” 

“Night?” Seonghwa asked, voice catching slightly in his chest as his words sunk into the abyss suddenly surrounding them. They no longer existed within a castle within a city, rather just the immediate space around them- everything else had faded away and suddenly Seonghwa was thankful for Yunho’s disappearance as he knew this moment wouldn’t have captured him the same without. Seonghwa’s words were careful when he spoke next, leaving enough room in them for the Prince to back out of any easily regrettable word choice if he felt cornered. “Is it because we spend a lot of time together at night?” 

Hongjoong blushed a pretty color and plopped down on the ottoman in the center of the room with a huff. He looked small there, much smaller than he ever did in Seonghwa’s office. “Yunho said the same thing. It’s not that- I mean, not entirely. It’s part of it, sure, but really, Seonghwa, you just remind me of night.” The way Hongjoong spoke his name felt oddly like he was praying and it hit Seonghwa in the center of his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. When Hongjoong continued, it was in an almost reverent tone, full of amaze and warmth, “You’re so calm and soothing and _lonely_ but not in a _sad_ way. You feel endless sometimes, but also too short? I know that makes no sense, but- just hear me out. You just feel like something I can get lost in but also something that I can count on to be consistent. Not to mention, sometimes I look at you and I swear you stole your smile from the moon or maybe a star got lost and found itself at home in your soul, but either way you just remind me of night. You always blossom at night, when you’re alone and the world is asleep.”

Seonghwa felt as though he couldn’t breathe, as though he had swallowed a mouth full of sand and glass and now he was unable to do anything about it. He felt as though he were on fire yet freezing, all wrapped into one emotion stemming from the center of his chest and lighting the rest of himself on fire. “Hongjoong,” He choked out around all the words trapped on his tongue, “You can’t say things like that.” 

“Sometimes I want to say things like that,” Hongjoong countered, looking to his nails as his shoulders curved slightly, “Sometimes _you_ make me want to say things like that.” 

Seonghwa didn’t know how to respond or how to interpret that. Hongjoong was an honest mystery to him sometimes, with far too many transparent layers to peel through to understand. 

Instead of responding, Seonghwa began to look around the room, finally assessing the Prince’s space to ground himself to reality; the room was probably the size of the entire bottom floor of his house, set up almost like a studio apartment. Everything in the room was warm toned, mostly shades of deep burgundy and burnt orange and gold, but the random green and blue accessories stood out in the midst. Floating shelves made a few lines over what wall space there was, most of the walls taken up by incredible windows overlooking the forest and the garden. On the shelves were various knick-knacks and books and movies and stuffed toys, all which Seonghwa looked over carefully, a smile tugging on his lips. In the farthest corner of the room was a canopy bed with a deep red duvet and black sheer curtains, gold sheets gleaming out from the unmade side, a torso sized brown teddy bear sitting haphazardly on the unused side. 

Hongjoong seemed to notice Seonghwa’s acknowledgment of the stuffed bear and looking unusually shy as he played with his fingers and mumbled, “I’ve had it since I was a baby.”

“It’s cute,” Seonghwa said, looking directly at the Prince once he felt his body return to the earth, “You saw all of my stuffed toys.” 

Hongjoong didn’t reply as Seonghwa continued to look around the room. In the center was a brown leather couch and a black velvet high backed seat, a matching ottoman in front of the chair that Hongjoong was perched on and a wooden table in between the seats. Several rugs decorated the wood floor and a tapestry hung over every door in the room. A large desk took up the wall by the entrance, full of painting and crafting and sewing materials and several unfinished projects- that was the messiest part of the room, though even within the chaos Seonghwa could see the pattern of how Hongjoong worked and it was endearing to say the least, though he wished to tidy the space if only slightly. 

On the final wall across from the bed was a large map, yellowed and ancient, but well cared for and placed with intent, along with several newer maps and a sketching of a compass. A short bookshelf sat beneath them holding multiple globes, compasses, history books, and even a small replica pirate ship. None of it was what Seonghwa had expected from the Prince, though he supposed if he had grown up in a stone prison that he too would find the idea of travelling to be comforting.

Seonghwa hadn’t noticed Hongjoong appearing next to him until the Prince spoke, voice far closer than it had been when he was perched comfortably on his ottoman. “I like the idea of travelling,” He explained, Seonghwa looking down at him and unintentionally admiring the way the shirt had slid and exposed the filigree curves of his collarbones. Everything about the Prince was so carefully carved from precious materials, down to his smallest details. “I would love to travel someday. Find all the nooks and corners and the ends of the universe- find what’s at the center. I think about it a lot.”

Seonghwa hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest as his eyes roamed over the smooth expanse of the Prince’s neck, over the tendons, and up to his ear. He admired the piercings there, the jewelry being simple metal balls and bars today. He studied the sharp profile of the prince, the way his nose was so finely carved from ivory or gold or perhaps pearls- something exquisite, something expensive, something entirely too perfect to be merely human. “I am sure,” Seonghwa said slowly, voice still so low in his chest that he felt as though there was a chance he was unheard even in the silence of the room, “That one day you will find the center of the universe, wherever it is. If anyone could, I do believe it would be _you_.”

Hongjoong looked up finally, meeting his eyes. This close Seonghwa could see the green undertones of his eyes, could see the blackness surrounding shadowy green flecks, and he felt like he could fall into such a trance while staring at the jade that made up Hongjoong’s eyes. “I hope that you will be there when I do,” His voice was airy, light, far too intrusive on Seonghwa’s psyche for as simple as the words were, “I hope that you will be by my side for a long while.”

For a second, Seonghwa forgot how to breathe, forgot how to speak, forgot how to control a body he had been living in for well over two decades- it was suddenly Hongjoong in control of his every motion, every string in his body wrapped around Hongjoong’s slender fingers. It was far more in one moment than he ever expected to feel.

He broke the tension first, stepping away from the Prince and providing a well needed gap between them, one that felt both far too small and far too wide. “I plan to be,” He said finally, then he bowed, bent at the waist and low, “Thank you for the opportunity to work for you and thank you for the flowers, Your Highness.” Seonghwa wasn’t foolish enough not to see the way that Hongjoong reacted to the term; it had begun as a patronizing and taunting phrase, yet slowly it had morphed into something closer to an endearment. 

When he straightened, Hongjoong was blushing and looking away awkwardly, one hand clenching his bicep while the other was hidden under the shirt sleeve and dangling by his thigh, “Honestly, it’s my pleasure.” 

“I will leave you to your peace then. Have a good day, My Prince.”

\---  
 _My Prince. My Prince. My Prince_. Hongjoong wasn’t sure why the phrase stuck with him like it did, but it replayed in his mind over and over and _over_ again. That night the sound in his mind was Seonghwa’s taunting words as he bit the sheets and begged to fall apart. He was far too enthralled in the doctor for it to be sane, far too invested in this. He couldn’t help it, though, everything about the man was entirely addicting to him. He treated him with such a casual air that it was refreshing to Hongjoong to find someone unthreatened by his position. Hongjoong was unable to get his voice out of his head and when his shorts were finally ruined it was only to the memory of an echoing and deep voice _Your Highness_. 

\---  
Seonghwa’s first _actual_ assignment as Hongjoong’s personal physician was a rather unexpected job: prepare Hongjoong for an archery competition. 

All the way up until then, Hongjoong had had Seonghwa playing babysitter, lounging around his office and coercing the Doctor into entertaining him all day. Seonghwa supposed there wasn’t more he could do, considering the apothecary that Hongjoong was having built for him was still in the process of _being built_ and Hongjoong was rather healthy currently. 

It wasn’t Hongjoong who approached him with his assignment, rather Madame Choi, who was the Queen’s advisor as Seonghwa had come to learn. She had told him that it would be necessary for Hongjoong to be examined before, during, _and_ after training and that Seonghwa would be required to attend the competition as well. Seonghwa had been given a week in advance to prepare and he had spent that time studying archery and proper techniques and ways to stretch to avoid injury, along with what injuries were most common with archers. 

By the time the first day of Hongjoong’s training came around, Seonghwa felt confident in his ability to support him through it. When he expressed such thoughts to the Prince as he sat in his examination robe in Seonghwa’s small private room, Hongjoong had simply laughed with his chest. “You realize I do have a coach, right?” 

Seonghwa’s face heated in the slightest way that he hoped was invisible in the harsh lighting. “I was told to assist you,” Seonghwa said, and turned back around, sliding the gloves up his hands, “And assist I shall.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to do _all_ of that.” Hongjoong diminished as Seonghwa bent in close, firmly grasping his shoulders to prompt the Prince into sitting up straighter. “You could’ve just given me physicals and a clean bill of health.” 

Seonghwa sighed softly, the sound not tired nor exasperated, rather fascinated as he studied Hongjoong for a moment. “I’m here to assist you, Hongjoong. Your health is my priority. If that comes in the form of preventative care by ensuring that you’re not over exerting your body or doing improper movements, then so be it. I do not mind. I just want to ensure your safety.”

Hongjoong smiled softly, eyes creasing and nose twitching slightly. “You’re a great doctor, Seonghwa.” 

“Doctor Park,” Seonghwa corrected with no true authority in his tone, words as thin as silk, “Now be quiet and answer my questions so we can get you outside.” 

Seonghwa thought it was rather reckless to be holding outdoor events in such weather as they currently faced. The cold nipped at his face through the scarf he had wrapped around his neck and tucked into his hat, his gloved hands were shoved into his thick wool coat pockets and still he felt as though he would lose them to the weather. Seonghwa was sure he looked like a raven in the snow, ready to swoop in on the dead or dying. Perhaps that’s all that doctor’s did, anyways, he thought.

Hongjoong, versely, was standing in the field behind the castle in what looked to be an entirely unbefitting olive green bodysuit. The cloth looked thin as it clung to every dip and curve of his muscle, but Hongjoong had ensured him that it was entirely suited to the weather and completely insulated with an additional lining of the softest fleece-like material. He wore a hat and tight leather gloves and stylish boots with snow traction to finish off the look. The healthcare professional part of Seonghwa’s brain was on high alert, looking at every single thing wrong with the setting they were in, but the more primal, more _human_ side of Seonghwa’s brain was focused on the way that Hongjoong’s back flexed as he notched an arrow and drew it back. He was studying Hongjoong’s impeccable form, unable to figure out if it was for flaws or for _lack_ of flaws. 

Seonghwa watched as Hongjoong released the arrow and he watched as it struck the center of the board in the distance, a perfectly clean shot. Hongjoong glanced over his shoulder at him as soon as he was certain the arrow had landed, seeming to vibrate far more than his arrow had. “Did you see that, Seonghwa?” 

Seonghwa shrugged, then in a tone as flat as the air around them he replied, “What was that? I think I missed it. Do it again.” 

Hongjoong scoffed, looking slightly impressed with the response, teeth showing as he licked them. “Alright, Doctor.” 

Seonghwa watched as Hongjoong bent over and pulled two arrows from the quiver by his feet, watched the way his body flexed and curved and the way he was undoubtedly more flexible than Seonghwa. Hongjoong notched the first arrow and withdrew it, only to send it whistling through the air followed immediately by the second. Both landed in the center next to the first arrow, close enough that they ripped the fabric holding the target together and the three fell to the ground. “What about that?” Hongjoong asked, smiling with the size of the moon.

“I saw that,” Seonghwa said, brushing his cold lips with a gloved hand, “I’m not sure I’m entirely impressed, though.” 

“This is just a warm-up,” Hongjoong was looking mischievous again, the dark glint returning to his eye, “Wait until you watch the actual training.”

The actual training was far more difficult than Seonghwa had expected. There were several things he had done that made him more than impressed, but Seonghwa’s personal favorite was watching as the trainer threw three objects into the air and had Hongjoong shoot a specific _one_ ; sometimes it was impossible to tell the three objects apart and it was entirely about timing and patience and quick reflexes. Hongjoong hadn’t missed once. 

Back inside of the castle, Hongjoong stripped the bodysuit to hang around his waist, a thin tank top the only thing keeping the skin of his upper torso covered. Seonghwa had gotten them glasses of room temperature water to slowly bring the feeling back into their fingers and mouths and the two sipped them quietly in the sun room, engulfed in something far more inviting than the outside air. 

“Are you going to help me stretch to cool down?” Hongjoong asked after a silence had fallen over the two, quickly adding, “The coach had helped me stretch before you got down here earlier.”

Seonghwa shrugged, still clenching his glass of water and feeling as though he were using it as a shield. “I can. It can also count as my ending assessment. Two birds, one stone.”

Hongjoong grinned impishly, setting his glass down on the counter lining the wall behind him. “I thought you’d see it like that.” Hongjoong wiggled the rest of the way out of his suit, leaving him in the underclothes he wore; simple tight shorts that ended at his lower thigh and a thin tank top, leaving little to Seonghwas imagination, though he made a point to not allow his eyes to linger. 

Seonghwa gestured to the bench that sat perpendicular to the couch and attempted to keep his eyes from the Prince as he moved to sit. Seonghwa nearly sighed when Hongjoong straddled the bench, leering over his shoulder to pass Seonghwa a mischievous look. The Prince was far too devilish for his sanity, the silver band on his finger catching the lighting as he tapped his fingers against the wood. Seonghwa simply undid his own coat and folded it carefully, setting it on the couch and counting his patience down in his mind. He stood behind Hongjoong as he stretched his hands, shaking his head gently to loosen his own nerves. “You’re impressive, My Prince.”

Hongjoong hummed in his throat, head cocking slightly as Seonghwa’s fingers dropped onto the curves of his shoulders. Seonghwa pressed the muscles slightly, listening to the content sigh the Prince released before he began speaking, “Care to elaborate, Doctor?”

Seonghwa scoffed, sliding his hands down his arms and gripping his wrists in loose links and wrapped his arms around his chest. Hongjoong seemed to stop breathing for a second as Seonghwa adjusted his grasp to only holding one arm at his bent elbow and applying pressure to his shoulder. “Compression therapy,” He mumbled into Hongjoong’s ear, “It can help with soreness. If you find that this doesn’t help you, we can try other methods.”

Hongjoong nodded, swallowing loud enough that Seonghwa could hear it, but his ear was level with the side of his neck, so Seonghwa wasn’t surprised. Seonghwa was certain that if he leaned any closer Hongjoong would be able to feel his heart cracking against his breastbone with the unsteady rhythm it had formed. “Breathe in,” Seonghwa instructed and Hongjoong complied limply. Seonghwa counted to ten before mumbling again, “Breathe out.” 

Seonghwa repeated this twice more, pressing firmly when he finished his exhale and loosening on inhale, before switching to his other arm. Hongjoong followed his instructions, quieter and far more passive than Seonghwa had ever seen him. Seonghwa peeled himself away, immediately feeling his chest chill upon the lack of contact and watched the way goosebumps trailed across the back of Hongjoong’s neck and shoulders, from the air that affected him in a far greater way. “Lay down on your back please.”

Hongjoong seemed to take a second before life seeped back into his veins and he slowly adjusted to lay back on the bench, arms crossed over his concaved stomach. “I’m going to stretch your neck.”

Seonghwa moved to the end of the bench and avoided looking directly at Hongjoong’s face and the angle it put him at. Hongjoong had closed his eyes, fingers knotted in his shirt and Seonghwa found himself looking away from that sight as well. Instead he focused on his own hands, watched as his fingers threaded through soft red hair and cupped the base of his skull, gently tilting as he instructed Hongjoong on how to breathe again while he forgot it on his own. Seonghwa studied the flexing of his neck, the pressing tendons, the line of his lax jaw- Seonghwa looked to the door suddenly, eyes focused on the dark outside. Perhaps he should have chosen a less intimate stretching for the first session. 

Seonghwa moved to his legs after and that was the realization that he had indeed chosen the _wrong_ form of stretching for this situation. Seonghwa had gently pried Hongjoong’s knee to his chest and slightly bent over the man to get the proper amount of pressure and stretch in his hamstrings and joints, but it was as he was counting that he realized the horror of the position they were in. Hongjoong himself seemed to be slightly pinker than normal, cheeks warm as he gripped the sides of the bench to keep from sliding. Seonghwa _wanted_ to panic and pull away but the _professional_ side of himself knew that jerking away and ruining the stretch gave way to risk of injury and besides he had to repeat on the other leg as well. He simply sighed and allowed himself to inhale the scent of strawberries and sweat, giving further instruction on breathing, for the benefit of both of them. 

“You’re impressive,” Seonghwa repeated as he realized the absolute silence of the isolated room was clawing at his spine, “Your archery. I was impressed watching you.”

“Oh,” Hongjoong wheezed from what Seonghwa assumed was the effort to stay relaxed, “Thank you. I haven’t done archery for all that long, so I take that with great pride.” 

“Not that long?” Seonghwa questioned as he leaned back slowly to shift to the other leg. Hongjoong let Seonghwa set his leg down slowly and let him lift the other with just as much care before bending him back in half again. “How long is ‘not that long’?”

“About a year,” He spoke through gritted teeth, “I did horseback racing before that. Sword fighting and fencing before that. In the summer I swim.” 

“Wow,” Seonghwa couldn’t think of any other word to express the wonder he was holding in the moment, “You’re that good and that new? What a talented Prince.”

“I’m good at everything I do, Seonghwa.” Hongjoong chuckled, airy and tight, “Any position I’m put in, I’m incredibly good at.” 

Seonghwa felt his throat constrict, mind blanking as his fingers tightened around Hongjoong’s ankle and calf. “As I said,” He finally choked through parched lips, “Impressive, Your Highness.” 

\---  
 _Seonghwa_. Hongjoong’s senses were completely encompassed in the Doctor, completely overtaken, hijacked, out-of-his-control. Hongjoong’s nose was full of the scent of tea and vanilla and something almost warm like cinnamon, like Seonghwa had drank cider before their session. Hongjoong’s skin was branded where the Doctor’s fingers had pressed and grazed and gently guided him. Hongjoong swore he could taste the tea on his tongue, swore he could feel the warmth travelling through him. Hongjoong felt incredibly restless as he fell into his sheets, tainting his own space with _Seonghwa_. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

He had looked so cute during the practice that day, bundled up in so many layers it hid his frame, cheeks and nose blushed from the cold, and eyes glassy as he watched. Hongjoong knew Seonghwa hadn’t stopped watching him, hadn’t taken his eyes from him for longer than a moment or so. Something about having that knowledge sent his brain into a fuzzy mess. He couldn’t explain his flirting with the Doctor, couldn’t explain what had possessed him, but the way his eyes would widen and cheeks deepen several shades made everything worth it. 

The Doctor was slowly becoming a problem for him, in many ways, but he couldn’t find himself minding. Not every problem needed solving, he thought.

\---  
Seonghwa walked into his office a week after the first practice, only to stop mid step into the room with a jerky motion. There was a large but short plant sitting on his desk in a heavy looking intricately carved white ceramic pot. The leaves were broad and pointed ovals, the white flowers tiny, delicate, geometric. Seonghwa felt as though he had swallowed a mouth full of dirt as he walked over to the plant, gently stroking the leaves with his fingertips. The scent was faint and sweet and he let his nose brush over one of the small white flowers for the softest of inhales. 

Seonghwa felt his chest and cheeks heating equally as he picked up the note next to the pot. The card was simple, the writing elegant and in a deep red shade that would almost look black if it wasn’t for the direct light he held it under. 

_What do you think of when you look at the stars?_

The note didn’t have to be signed in order for Seonghwa to know who had delivered it. He set the note down gingerly, almost terrified that if he handled it too roughly it would shatter into dust. He rushed through the hallways and staircases, down a path he had barely just remembered and to a hallway which held a stone staircase. 

Yunho was sat downstairs instead of the upstairs hallway, resting on a bench with an equally tall man, a fellow guard Seonghwa had seen several times by now yet could never recall his name. Seonghwa had come to learn that this man was Yunho’s _friend_ , the one he had often brought with in the night to keep him company while Hongjoong was keeping _Seonghwa_ company. Seonghwa wondered if it was the same, their type of company. He didn’t pry.

“Yunho,” Seonghwa greeted, slightly out of breath, as he came to a stop in front of the guards, “May I go up?” 

Yunho shrugged, “I don’t think you’d go away if I said no. Besides, I fear that if I said no, Hongjoong would have me turned into a mantle decoration.”

Seonghwa grinned, but didn’t bother replying, heading through the staircase entry and taking the stairs two at a time. The words were on his tongue, hanging there like dripping honey ready to be swallowed, but not by himself. 

_What do you think of when you look at the stars?_

_You._

The answer was so simple, so easy to grasp- low hanging fruit on a low hanging branch. Seonghwa just had to reach out and grasp it.

So he did. 

He took the door handle to the Prince’s room in his fingers and twisted the knob, entering without thinking to ask for permission first, mind solely on the word stuck to his tongue, _you, you, you, you._.

When the door opened, though, the room was not private. Seonghwa entered to a startled Madame Choi and a non-existent Hongjoong, his body halting with a stiff motion. 

“Oh,” Seonghwa breathed after a second, the excitement dying as though water had been poured over his flame. “My sincerest apologies, I should have knocked before entering.”

“Do you often barge into the Prince’s room like this? Unannounced and uninvited?” Madame Choi’s voice was terse and scolding and Seonghwa was quickly reminded of the fact that he was _not_ royalty and Hongjoong was a _Prince_ in more than just the teasing title he often used. 

Seonghwa was stuttering over his tongue, mind whirring as he attempted to find a response only to be interrupted by Hongjoong’s sweet giggle coming from one of the open doors off to the side of the room. A head of strawberry red hair poked out from around the corner followed by pretty eyes and brilliant smile. “It’s okay, Madame Choi, I left him a note to come up when he arrived. He was only following orders.” 

“He shouldn’t just enter your room,” She scolded, harsh glare turning onto the barely visible Prince, “It’s impolite.” 

“He didn’t just enter,” Hongjoong argued, stepping out of the closet finally, “He was following what the note said and besides, Yunho was downstairs. If Yunho let him up without warning him of anything then it’s clear that I would have just called him in anyways.” 

Madame Choi seemed to want to combat that further, but Seonghwa gathered his wits and entered the room fully, bowing to the Prince. “My apologies,” He said finally, voice steady and sincere, “She is correct, I should have knocked before entering.”

Hongjoong waved his hand dismissively as Seonghwa straightened again, not glancing away from the Prince in the time he responded. “Take this as permission to enter my room whenever you’d like. If Yunho doesn’t stop you, then there’s no reason you can’t. It’ll save me from having to call you in every time if I am busy.”

Seonghwa licked his teeth, swallowing the words he wanted to say and instead accepting the permission that sounded more like an order than anything else. Seonghwa finally acknowledge Hongjoong’s appearance and once again found himself unable to form coherent thoughts. Hongjoong was wearing his undergarments, long tight black pants and a black tank top, a small black corset shaping his waist- he looked as though he were going to be wearing a dress today. 

Madame Choi was the next to speak, dragging Seonghwa from his admiration that Hongjoong seemed to soak up entirely too greedily. “We are having a meeting with the hosts of the archery competition today, Doctor. Would you care to accompany the Prince as his advisor?” 

Hongjoong was glaring at Madame Choi then, eyes sharp and knowing, but Seonghwa didn’t give too much thought to his actions, instead glancing over his shoulder to the woman who seemed to be assessing him and his response. Seonghwa turned fully and gave a quarter bow, simple and polite, “I would feel honored, but I am unsure of my qualifications to be of assistance in such a meeting.” 

Madame Choi scoffed in her throat, an unusually ugly and disbelieving noise, before she shrugged and smiled dryly, “You are Hongjoong’s physician; you know everything about him. Besides, it seems as though the two of you have gotten awfully comfortable with the other. I think you would be perfectly suited to being his advisor for the meeting.” Her attention shifted behind Seonghwa again as she jerked her chin, “Hongjoong, go and finish getting dressed while we talk.” 

Seonghwa didn’t have to look to know Hongjoong was pouting as he shuffled back into the closet. “What would that entail?” He inquired carefully, resisting the urge to knot his fingers in something to distract himself from the woman’s intensity. 

“Assisting him,” She replied simply with a wave of her hand, “Make sure he stays on topic and answers questions. Additionally ensure the fact that the guests aren’t delving too deep, making him uncomfortable, or prying for information. The more minor things would be like ensuring that Hongjoong has all of his needs met, as in refills and snacks and the like. He tends to go through a lot of cookies during these meetings- he’s a nervous muncher- so keep him supplied so he doesn’t have to interrupt the meeting. Also, make sure he stays awake- he just falls asleep at random if you allow him to and he certainly will during these meetings.”

Seonghwa nodded as he absorbed the information, thumbing his chin. “Basically, just take care of his needs.”

Madame Choi nodded, looking far softer than she had when he had entered. She seemed to be relieved at the idea that Seonghwa would be replacing her in the meeting. He wondered just how many responsibilities this woman had shouldered over the years and how much more she would continue to do so. He found himself wanting to take pity on her. “That’s exactly it. If he needs something, get it or do it for him. You’d be an extension of his own self, essentially.”

“Only for this meeting?” Seonghwa needed the clarification, though he wasn’t sure what answer he genuinely wanted. 

“If that’s what you wish.” Was the only answer she gave and he wasn’t positive whether that was appeasing or not.

Seonghwa was choosing how to respond when Hongjoong peeked out from around the closet wall again, his voice light and sweet, “Seonghwa,” He drawled out the sounds of his name longer than necessary considering the man’s attention was already on him, “Come help me zip up the back of this. It’s ridiculous, I cannot bend in the way required.” 

“I think that means you’re not doing your stretches,” Seonghwa chastised, unmoving as he crossed his arms, “How are you unable to zip your own clothing without assistance if you are doing your stretches?”

Hongjoong pouted, lips puffy and eyes narrowed, but it was Madame Choi who responded, “Don’t deny your Prince, Doctor. Go help him if you’re accepting the request.”

Seonghwa sighed, but headed for the Prince anyways, figuring his verbal answer was unnecessary. Seonghwa allowed himself to move forward without looking back, both literally and figuratively. When he entered the closet he was blind-sided by the outfit the Prince was dressed in. It wasn’t quite a dress, but it wasn’t _not_ a dress either. The gold brocade top went up his throat and over his shoulders, ending in short sleeves, but the gold silk skirt attached ended at the very tops of his thighs in a sharp line that showed the entirety of his long underpants, with two long strips of fabric draping down the sides of his legs to his ankles. The outfit made him look longer, more slender, stretched like a cat in the sunbeams. 

Hongjoong turned around, back facing the man as he tipped his head forwards, “It’s not that I can’t zip it because i’m inflexible,” He insisted, tapping his foot impatiently as he spoke, “I’m doing my stretches! I just am not able to bend in a way that puts the zipper at the proper angle that it won’t catch on every line of brocade. It’s sickening, really, I’ve been diddling with it for far too long.” 

Seonghwa stood behind him at what he almost deemed to be unreasonably close, but he figured the other wouldn’t know unless he turned around. Something in him was curious, far _too_ curious, to know if the man dripping in gold in front of him still smelled like strawberries. He pressed one hand to Hongjoong’s lower back to hold the fabric in place as the other gripped the _tiny_ zipper and tugged it up the dress. He let himself get _too_ close, convincing himself it was to look for the track the zipper was on, and just _happened_ to catch a small inhale of the fresh cream and strawberry scent that Hongjoong seemed to radiate. 

Strawberries dipped in gold, Seonghwa thought as he finished tugging the zipper up. He patted the Prince’s shoulder to let him know he was done, but the Prince turned unexpectedly. Staring up at him from this close, Seonghwa could once again see the green flakes in his eyes and the way they glittered under artificial lighting mimicked the stars in the sky. It was then that Seonghwa was reminded of why he had even arrived in his room in the first place, a soft smile overtaking his lips. “Thank you for the gift.” Seonghwa said into the silence, voice so low it barely left his chest. 

Hongjoong swallowed and Seonghwa could track the movement with his eyes. “What did you think?” He licked his lips nervously then added quickly, “Of the gift I mean.”

“I think that you are far too generous with me.” The answer was far more honest than Seonghwa had expected to be in the moment, but he couldn’t stop himself as he allowed his tongue to take control in the warm silence of the large closet, “Also, I think of _you_.”

Hongjoong blinked once, then twice, and when he finally did the third, he spoke in a broken tone, “Pardon?”

“You. I think of you when I look at the stars.” Seonghwa backed away after speaking, righting his button down shirt as though it had been displaced and turning on his heel. He exited the closet without another word, leaving a dumbfounded Hongjoong behind him. 

\---  
Hongjoong was less nervous for the meeting than he typically found himself to be. His posture was straight but relaxed, lacking the typical stiffness and forced smile he normally carried with him. Hongjoong attributed it to the Doctor sitting next to him, clasping a gold rimmed ivory tea cup in between gentle fingers. Hongjoong knew now just how gentle Seonghwa’s grasp was, just how feather-light his fingers could be and somehow that was calming to his nerves to think about.

They sat in the sitting room on the second lowest floor of the castle, overlooking the rose garden and the beginning of the hedge maze labyrinth that Hongjoong found endlessly fascinating in the summertime. This time of year, though, the sky was a steel grey with a heavy blanket of smothering smoke colored clouds, the sun barely sneaking through in watery strips occasionally, leaving the maze looking rather eerie and dead- Hongjoong didn’t mind that either, though, and found the maze equally as interesting. He would have to invite Seonghwa into the maze one day, perhaps even leave him there as a jest. 

Hongjoong appreciated the way that the heavy burgundy curtains were tied back to let the bleached sunlight into the room to give a gleam to the cream colored furniture and silver, gold, and burgundy accents. Hongjoong didn’t spend much time in the sitting room as he found it to be rather crisp and lacking the warmth of his favored rooms, but today it felt the slightest bit more comfortable than it had before. 

Across from him was the host of the competition, a man that Hongjoong had only ever known as Sir Lee, sitting in what was far too informal of a suit to be considered appropriate given the way that he had emphasized on the _formality_ of the meeting. Hongjoong occasionally felt like nothing more than a ceramic doll poised for everyone’s desires- _dress like this, be here at this time, look pretty with a pretty smile with a pretty dress and don’t forget to laugh and be generous with the compliments and gratitude_. Hongjoong hated when he felt this way, hated attending the meetings and events that made him feel more like a caricature than a person. Mayhap that was why he thrived off of Seonghwa’s presence as much as he did, loved being around the man as much as he did. Seonghwa had never treated him in such a way, had never traded his personality for a facade that Hongjoong had crafted for him. Seonghwa liked _him_ as _him_. 

“So, young Prince,” Sir Lee spoke from his perch in the center of the high backed and ornate cream sofa, aged features glaringly smug in the watery lighting, though Hongjoong was forced to ignore the bitter taste he left in his mouth. “Are you looking forward to your first archery competition?” 

Hongjoong placed his own teacup back on his saucer, the ivory soundless with the gent he put into the movement. He didn’t respond until he had sat the set on the table in front of the small group, giving the man a smile that tasted like plastic. “I am,” He confirmed, tone dripping with manufactured sugar, “I know that you will provide a wonderful course.”

“I will be sure to cater to your skill level!” Sir Lee’s laugh was deep and aged and Hongjoong felt his nerves grate with the sound and the patronizing coo lilting his words. Seonghwa was patronizing with Hongjoong often in a way that riled him up and coiled the knots in his chest in a way he _chased_. Sir Lee was _irking_ , headache inducing, _frustrating_. Hongjoong would rather stand and leave the room than continue the conversation, but good politics were never good relationships, so he simply gave a tight lipped smile and moved to thank the man. 

It was Seonghwa, though, that spoke next, interrupting both the Prince and the Sir, “My Prince is incredibly impressive, Sir.”

When Hongjoong looked to Seonghwa it seemed as though the Doctor hadn’t expected himself to speak, eyes slightly wide in the way that Hongjoong had grown to understand was a sign that the Doctor caught himself off guard. Something tumbled in his stomach at the idea of Seonghwa instinctually defending him. 

“Oh?” The Sir responded, greying bushy eyebrows raised as he sipped from the cup, attention suddenly transferred to the Doctor next to the Prince for the first time that afternoon. Hongjoong knew Seonghwa would grow uncomfortable under the gaze after too long, but he was still bubbling in his own emotions at Seonghwa’s sudden protective stance, “Who are you, again?” 

Seonghwa gave a smile that pulled barely to the edges of his mouth, eyes level underneath the ends of his hand-swept sandy bangs. Seonghwa hadn’t been prepared for this meeting, wearing a simple lilac colored button down and black slacks, his grey blazer framing his shoulders to appear broader. Somehow he still looked elegant, though, creaseless and poised next to the Prince as though he had always belonged in the gap Hongjoong hadn’t known existed. His fingers tightened minisculely around his teacup, a movement only Hongjoong had known to look for, as he spoke again, “I’m Doctor Park, I watch over the Prince’s training to ensure he’s being coached with proper techniques and adequate stretches and muscle training to avoid injury.”

Sir Lee frowned, though it was one similar to that of coyness as his eyebrows jumped again. He leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs at his knee. “Ah, so I assume you will be at the competition then?” 

“Yes,” Seonghwa confirmed with a slight polite dip of his head, adding carefully, “Though, I would have attended regardless.”

“Oh?” The man was far too intrigued with Seonghwa for Hongjoong’s liking, seeming to want details on something that Hongjoong wasn’t sure he wanted to share with anyone else. “Pray tell?”

Seonghwa gave a passing glance to Hongjoong while he spoke, careful and meaningful as ever, “Everyone needs a support system.” 

\---  
Hongjoong hadn’t been able to rid himself of the gnawing tension that trailed him after the meeting; unable to find release in the sanctuary of his art nor his books. His mind was knotted with frustration and his body mimicking with muscles more tense than necessary. He ran through the options of other forms of relaxation and that was how he found himself submerged in the large tub in the floor of the sauna. The water was a shade of red so dark he could only see a small shadow of his hand swirling beneath the surface with a small film of bubbles covering the surface, filling the room with the scent of sweetened fruit and a light steam. 

Hongjoong could feel the tension melting from his body, but his mind was still spinning through far too much to be considered _relaxing_. 

“Yunho,” He called, voice pitchy and tired as he drawled, “Come here.”

Yunho appeared in the room, wearing his thick black uniform and looking uncomfortable in the heat. “Yes, Prince?”

Hongjoong played with the surface of the water momentarily, “Can you get Seonghwa? I think there’s something wrong with my neck.”

Yunho grinned, bow shaped lips drawing and notched, ready to fire with something Hongjoong didn’t want to hear so he shooed the guard quickly with a wet hand motion. Yunho seemed to swallow the words but the expression never left, “Yes, Prince, I’ll fetch the Doctor for your _neck_.”

Hongjoong simply sunk deeper into the tub, letting his head rest on the curve carved into the stone for comfort. He let his eyes close as he attempted to soothe himself on his own, but the grating nerves from the day refused to cease. Everything about Sir Lee was _frustrating_. The man spoke as though he were looking down on Hongjoong, as though he were nothing more than a figurehead rather than a Prince in line to inherit the throne. Sir Lee was everything Hongjoong wished to avoid when it came to politics. Hongjoong knew his mother had insisted on him joining archery to form a better connection with the Lee’s from the neighboring city, the largest timber exports of their Kingdom. Hongjoong knew his mother was wooing the family in an attempt to court the Lee’s daughter for Hongjoong’s future wife, for the continuation of their heritage. Hongjoong knew that everything about his life was driven by politics and there were many times where he _hated_ it.

The sauna door slid open with that thought, his eyes springing open to meet Seonghwa’s as the Doctor loitered by the still open paper door. “Doctor,” Hongjoong said, a smile curving his cheeks, suddenly drawn from the dark hole he had begun to crawl into, “I think there’s something wrong with my neck.” 

Seonghwa circled the gaping circular hole in the floor with socked feet just to stand just to the side of the opening and stare down at the Prince with a curved eyebrow. “Your neck?” 

Hongjoong nodded up at him, still smiling innocently. “Please assess me.” 

Seonghwa sighed and slipped the blazer from his shoulders, dropping it on the bench in the corner after assessing the lack of dry spaces in the room. Hongjoong watched with rapt eyes as he unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up his arms, the action oddly alluring. Seonghwa then disappeared from Hongjoong’s line of vision as he moved directly behind him. Hongjoong could only listen as the Doctor kneeled behind him and shuffled to get comfortable, feeling the hairs rise on the back of his neck as though a chill had overcome him despite the heat of the room. 

When Seonghwa’s fingers pressed into the Prince’s nape, it startled him into a shiver, eyelids fluttering and lips parting slightly. Seonghwa pressed his skin as gently as he held the teacup, fingers exploring his neck and upper spine with light touches that nearly sent Hongjoong trembling. After a minute or two of his finger adventures, Seonghwa finally hummed and withdrew his touch, wiping his hands on his pants. “Are you able to turn your head in a full radius?”

“I think,” Hongjoong murmured to his reflection in the dark water. Hongjoong let himself relax when Seonghwa cupped his skull in his hands, slowly turning and rotating and tilting his head in all directions. 

Once finished, Seonghwa sighed and released him, wiping his hands on his pants again. “Prince, there’s nothing wrong with your neck.” 

Hongjoong turned his head to look over his shoulder at the Doctor, “Are you accusing me of lying? I’m being serious, my neck hurts- I think there’s something wrong.” 

Seonghwa smiled, genuine and full and Hongjoong felt his skin heat to the temperature of the water. Seonghwa’s smile was unique in such a fascinating way; when he fully smiled it looked as though he were grimacing, mouth boxy and blinking more often. It was a sweet sight, one that endeared Hongjoong to no end. “You’re just tense, Your Highness.”

“Oh,” Hongjoong turned back around, sinking slightly into the water, feeling slightly bashful at the diagnosis. “What can I do to fix it?” 

Seonghwa hummed momentarily, voice carrying through the mist and sinking low in Hongjoong’s stomach, where it settled and pooled. Seonghwa said nothing for a long moment, but when Hongjoong was about to turn to check on him, the Doctor’s fingers pressed into the nape of his neck once again, though this time with more pressure. Hongjoong’s mind fizzled into the bubbles of the bath as Seonghwa’s fingers worked into the skin and muscles there with gentle but firm circles. Hongjoong’s skin was slightly damp, lessening the friction as he slowly moved down the Prince’s neck. 

Hongjoong’s body was warmer than the water, warmer than the air, boiling but somehow frozen as Seonghwa slowly worked the tension from his body with kind movements. Seonghwa had begun singing a song below his breath, creating a background noise more than the shifting water and Hongjoong’s breathing. The song was unfamiliar, but Hongjoong was certain that the original rendition wasn’t nearly as haunting as Seonghwa’s voice had made it sound. When his thumbs dug into the flesh of the area connect his neck and shoulders Hongjoong whimpered at the pain, teeth digging into his lips as he attempted to stifle the noises bubbling in response. 

“My apologies,” Seonghwa said quietly, voice a calm and deep as the water he was submerged in, “You have rather deep knots, Your Highness.”

Hongjoong’s breath was shaky, stuttering from his chest like a trembling leaf in the breeze and he murmured something along the lines of _it’s okay_. He wasn’t fully aware of his mouth, his mind wandering as he felt himself shaking beneath the water. 

“Was the meeting that stressful?” Seonghwa asked, voice so soft it might as well have been silk against Hongjoong’s skin, caressing him so delicately. 

“Yes,” Hongjoong wheezed finally, mind processing everything slower than normal as though the world was submerged in molasses and time no longer ticked at the designated rate, “I mean, not in the normal way, but I hate meetings like that.”

“Like that?” Seonghwa asked, still pressing circles into his shoulders. His fingers were long and slightly roughened from what Hongjoong assumed was the work in his garden, though his nails were neat and his scars faded. Seonghwa had pretty hands, Hongjoong thought, and they worked wonders on the sorest parts of him. Hongjoong dreaded the moment that their touch would disappear and he were left in his cabinet, no longer being admired by hands that treated him like the most precious of glass.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong swallowed heavily and allowed himself to relax under his fingers, absorbing the moment as they lived it, “Meetings where I have to dress up and play pawn in a politics game.”

Seonghwa made an understanding noise, shifting his hands down his shoulders further and entering a new area of tenderness. Hongjoong forced himself to relax under his ministrations. “I understand that. I thought it went rather well though. I quite liked assisting you.”

Hongjoong wasn’t sure how to take the addition of that information. A part of him wanted to believe it was genuine, but the other, more insecure part of himself, wanted to believe he only said it to be polite and to help alleviate the tension. Hongjoong suddenly felt far more exposed than he thought he would, their surroundings setting in as he became hyper aware of his nakedness and the vulnerable position he had placed himself in. He mumbled from shameful lips, “I’m sorry that Madame Choi sprung that on you as she did.” 

Seonghwa made a disproving and dismissive noise, immediately ceasing all the worry that had suddenly rushed through him. “It was definitely unexpected, but not unwelcome. If you would like me to be present with you at any future meetings, please feel free to ask. If it helps you relax more, then I am more than willing to assist.” 

Hongjoong licked his lips, tasting the fruity steam clinging to his skin and nodded slowly. He felt silly at the fact that he had been so worried considering Seonghwa had yet to ever give him a reason to feel such a way. The Doctor had been nothing but supportive, if not slightly teasing, ever since they had bonded. There was no reason to feel such a lack of security as the Doctor clearly enjoyed his presence. “Thank you, Seonghwa.”

“Of course, Hongjoong.” Something about the way Seonghwa said his name, the way it rolled from his tongue in an almost prayerful manner, caused another shiver to chase its way through Hongjoong’s body. 

In a moment of weakness, he was unable to hold his tongue, allowing every brick he had carefully placed around himself to be knocked down. “Somedays I wish I was not royalty.” 

Seonghwa’s fingers stopped momentarily before continuing as though nothing had happened, travelling to the curve of his shoulder and arms. He worked the muscles there for a moment before he inquired further, allowing the Prince’s words to hang and dissipate before addressing them. Seonghwa often gave Hongjoong time to swallow his words and move along quickly if needed and the Prince found the courtesy heartwarming. “Why is that, My Prince?”

“I wish I could live a normal life.” He admitted, staring into the bubbles again and the way they swirled and clung to him like the citizens of his kingdom. “I would like to spend my life doing what makes me happy with people who make me happy.”

“Do you not have that now?” Seonghwa was so quiet, his voice almost sounding hurt in the moment.

“I have you.” Hongjoong admitted equally as soft, voice slightly raw, “But I’m afraid in this life I’m not able to _have you_.”

There was silence in the room again, the only sound filling the space between them was the sound of Seonghwa’s never ceasing fingers occasionally disturbing the water and the sound of Hongjoong’s heart echoing underneath the water as it broke. Finally, Seonghwa spoke again, voice honest and tender, “You’ll always have me.”

Hongjoong turned around, twisting at his waist as he looked directly at the Doctor, the physical connection broken for a far deeper one carried between their eyes. “Do not say things you do not mean, Doctor.” 

Seonghwa’s smile was almost sad, but it was genuine and it reminded Hongjoong of cold autumn nights on a bridge overlooking a moonlit river. It tasted like fog and starlight and cold air that could never hurt them. “I never lie, Prince.” Seonghwa gripped his shoulders and turned him back around, sliding the smaller man around the water easily, though Hongjoong went willingly. “I am your physician, after all. I gave up everything to work for you.”

Hongjoong let the words settle in the air with the steam for a heartbeat before responding carefully, “What if I gave up everything, as well?”

Seonghwa chuckled, though it wasn’t out of humor or mocking, the sound slightly sad and deep in his body. “You will not. You will become King and I will remain your physician.”

“Not every Prince becomes King, my good Doctor.” Hongjoong muttered, kicking his feet to shift the water again. Hongjoong knew he was once again being slightly childish, but the yearning for something other than what he had was bothering him once more. Seonghwa cleared such nerves as he seemed to do so easily, never-ceasing hands forcing such feelings from him as though he were exorcising the demons plaguing him. 

“But this one will,” Seonghwa said, pressing his fingers into the muscles surrounding his spine and causing the Prince to wince again, “And I will ensure that.”

“Can you ensure you’ll be there throughout everything?” Hongjoong pressed, voice weaker than he had hoped, more vulnerable than he wished. Hongjoong felt as though he should be concerned about his willingness to give away all control so easily with the Doctor, but there wasn’t a part of him able to cease it. 

“Of course, My Prince.”

\---  
Seonghwa was restless that night, churning in his bed with thoughts of slippery skin and soft noises and the all too honest atmosphere that Hongjoong had curated for them. Seonghwa couldn’t get the rawness of the moment from his mind, his body alive with the drug he was knowing to be Hongjoong. Something was addictive about the Prince and his presence- it could have been the way that every sound he made he did so through his nose in heavy breathes, or the way his eyelashes fluttered against soft cheeks, or even the way that he had begun to cling to Seonghwa’s presence entirely. Seonghwa had come home that night and climbed into bed carrying the scent of strawberries and cream, his skin stained with the scent after finishing Hongjoong’s massage. 

_Hongjoong’s massage_. Nothing about it had been arousing in the moment, at least not for Seonghwa. He had simply provided a medical service and a friendly ear to listen. Now, though, sitting in the dark of his room with nothing more than his thoughts, Seonghwa found his body reacting violently to the memories of his smooth skin underneath his fingertips, the curves of his collarbones, the notches of his spine. Everything about the Prince was all sharp lines and smooth edges, all fitting beneath his hands so deliciously that it was nearly intoxicating to think about. 

Seonghwa could imagine that the supple skin over his back continued down his body, could imagine that everywhere on the Prince felt like silk. Seonghwa’s fingers curled inwards in himself at the thought, pressing into the delicate spots of his inner-self and making him keen into the empty cottage.

_Satin_. Hongjoong definitely would feel like satin, in and out. He knew that Hongjoong would feel like wrapped satin sitting in the sun; warm and smooth and enticing. He knew everything about the man’s sexual history from their appointments and something felt oddly sick about the fact that Seonghwa knew the reason Hongjoong wore the tiny silver ring constantly. _Purity_. Seonghwa groaned, low and noisy for the time of night he was in. Hongjoong was _pure_. 

Sun warmed, pure white satin.

The thought of the pure silver ring sent Seonghwa over the edge, hiccuping on his noises as his mind worked over the information. As he came down from his high, all Seonghwa could think about was how utterly fucked he truly was. 

\---  
Hongjoong kept leaving potted plants for Seonghwa’s collection in his office. Seonghwa would enter his office on a random day and there would be a new plant greeting him, a note always attached and unsigned. Seonghwa wasn’t sure when the Prince was getting the time to find such gifts, but they made his skin tingle and his cheeks warm and something tighten in his chest to the point of nearly snapping. Seonghwa wasn’t sure what would happen when the tension in his chest snapped, but he attempted to keep a tight rein on it in case. 

The plants were varied in species and sizes, but they were consistent in the fact that every single one came with a handwritten note done in red calligraphy that was far too fancy and intricate to be practical.

A small Alyssum bush with no blooms, ready to be planted in spring to attract butterflies with the note _Are you able to count the worth of the stars? Can you amount their beauty in a divisible number?_. 

Nasturtiums in all shades of red and orange with their flat circular lily-pad-ish leaves. Conquestial flowers, edible and pretty, though almost scentless. The note was shorter this time, more teasing, and Seonghwa read it with a grin on his lips: _I do not know defeat._

One of Seonghwa’s personal favorites was the set of white and red lilies he walked into on the final day of Hongjoong’s training. _Passion and rebirth_. A fascinating choice. Seonghwa stood then, by the window, the sun just reaching into the room over the forest as the mid-winter rays crept through the ever-stormy clouds. The ink the note was written in today was red with gold flecks, shining as the note was shifted. _I fear the day I won’t be able to try again. I feel so often that my life is made of choices that I didn’t choose and the thought that someday I will get the chance to try it again but on my own terms. Sometimes I feel as though I shouldn’t wait for someday, that someday will never come if I do not make it arrive. What do you think, Doctor? Do I sound positively mad? No matter, I think I will simply just continue trying again until I seem to find the right path. I hope you are patient with me during these iterations._

When Seonghwa met Hongjoong and the trainer in the sun room, he couldn’t help but eye the Prince with far too much curiosity. Today’s outfit was entirely black and skintight, covering every inch of his body from neck to wrist and disappearing into the heavy boots he wore. The trainer was explaining that this would be their last session before the competition and something about the importance of his actions and keeping his bearings. Seonghwa was only half paying attention to him, instead watching Hongjoong nodded and wobble on his feet while he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts as well. 

Seonghwa could feel eyes on him, could feel himself being assessed and dissected, so he glanced around to find Yunho standing off to the side, smiling in a way that could only be pinned as _knowing_. He found his way over to stand next to the unnecessarily tall guard, glancing at the peach haired man from the corner of his eye. “Why do you look so gleeful today, Guard?”

Yunho chuckled under his breath, gently bumping his much broader shoulder into Seonghwa’s playfully. A large puppy, Seonghwa thought. “Did you like the gift?” 

Seonghwa felt his face heating, the warmth crawling up from the collar of his black and white striped turtleneck. He tugged gently at the collar and shook his head to clear the rattling thoughts, “It was a very beautiful set of lilies.” 

“He puts a lot of research into those, you know?” Yunho said, almost thoughtlessly as he watched the Prince. Seonghwa was focused on the man's rounded profile, too concerned that if he looked to the Prince that Yunho would be able to read him like a book. Perhaps Yunho had already read him, though, considering the Guard seemed to know everything he thought already. When Yunho spoke, he often did so in subtext, the true meaning of his words hidden behind his playful exterior and faux innocent tone. “I’ve never seen him put so much care into something before. He’s very fascinated by your plants.” 

Seonghwa smiled, looking down to the ground at his own fur lined snow boots where his thick slacks were tucked in. “I am aware of the thought he puts into them. I appreciate it immensely.” 

“Joong is a lovely poet, too.” Yunho added softly, sounding something akin to proud of the Prince. “He used to write poems about the stars and the garden and things he thought were beautiful.” 

“Used to?” Seonghwa inquired, glancing up to find the guard looking at him, chestnut eyes both amused and genuine. 

“I think he’s found a new inspiration.” Yunho was vague in his response, but there was no misinterpreting his words nor the intentions he spoke them with. Seonghwa found his lips slack as he floundered for a response, jaw suddenly too loose and tongue too heavy. 

As it seemed, there was no need for his attempt to respond as the Prince in question came bounding over, stealing his attention easily as he always did. “Seonghwa!” He exclaimed excitedly, before tripping on his words, “Doctor! It’s the last day. Are you excited for the competition?”

“It’s two days away, Prince.” Seonghwa said, though there was a smile holding every ounce of his earnest feelings gracing his expression.

Hongjoong didn’t miss it and tilted his head to the side, hair shifting as he did so. Seonghwa wondered if the Prince would cut it soon as it was getting longer and slightly wavy, several loose curls flopping in the mix. “That just means we have two days of excitement to build! Now come along, let’s go to the field!” 

Seonghwa glanced to Yunho after the Prince began bounding away, to find the guard once again looking at him. Seonghwa felt unusually shy underneath the gaze he was cast, a thrumming in his chest echoing around his ribcage as he realized that Yunho was able to read him so easily. Hongjoong had come over and opened the book that was Seonghwa’s quiet emotions and Yunho was privy to watch the spectacle. 

_A new inspiration_.

\---   
The competition arrived within a fast millennia and Hongjoong was buzzing with excitement the entire day. On the way to the competition he rode in a carriage alone with Yunho and Mingi, the two listening to him chatter in anticipation. Archery had been a political move by his mother undoubtedly, but Hongjoong couldn’t deny that he had fallen in love with the sport and enjoyed every second he spent training on it. He knew his mother would be gravely disappointed upon learning he had no desire in the Lee’s daughter and would instead be entirely focused on the competition as a genuine _interest_. He was ever thankful for the carriage following them, carrying not only Madame Choi but Seonghwa as well. The Doctor was truly becoming his anchor in times of anxiousness and Hongjoong was realizing he needed to gather the courage to ask the Doctor to become his advisor so Madame Choi could return to being solely his mother’s. 

“Hey, Yunho, do you think that the Doctor is going to be entertained?” Hongjoong asked after a beat where he had lapsed in conversation. There was a minor insecurity gnawing at the pit of his stomach, one that loomed behind him in the form of a question mark, hoping to not only entertain but impress the Doctor. “This isn’t boring, right?” 

Yunho shrugged, patting Mingi’s shoulder as he did so. Yunho was calm at every moment, effortlessly lax and amenable. Nothing ever seemed to ruffle the man, his temperament so mild and jovial that Hongjoong couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the man look even remotely nervous. “I don’t think he will be bored!” He insisted, smile blinding and nose scrunching as he hunched over partially to eye the Prince with a wink. “The Doctor likes watching you.”

“That sounds awfully creepy,” Mingi said, deep voice slightly raspy, though there was a crooked smile creasing his cheeks and eyes. Versley to Yunho, Hongjoong only ever saw the brooding Guard look so joyous when in the company of the peach haired man. Yunho seemed to be the only one able to lure the toothy expression out of Mingi, the Guard remaining rather placid and bleak whenever he was absent. Hongjoong didn’t pry too far into their dynamic, but he tried often to pair them whenever he had long excursions.

“Yeah, because it _is_.” Yunho laughed, bright and as cheery as the summer sun always was. Yunho was teasing by nature, animated and prodding, and it was always entertaining to Hongjoong until his spotlight was focused on him.

“It’s not creepy,” Hongjoong inserted, crossing his arms and legs, glancing to the outside world that they passed by in hopes of hiding the flush on his cheeks. “It’s sweet.”

“Whatever you say, Prince.” Hongjoong kicked his shin lightly in response, not hard enough to even press the fabric of his boot to his leg, but Yunho yelped in response a teasing smile on his lips. He clutched his _injured_ leg and exclaimed, “You’re abusing me! Classism at it’s finest, huh, Mingi?”

Mingi tsked, shaking his head and crossing his arms, feeding into Yunho’s terrible habit of exaggeration. Hongjoong also found the duo to be more trouble together than they were apart, but it was the kind of trouble he found good company in. “Horrible, purely horrible. I’ll have it spread to the press by morning. They’ll elect a new monarchy by the weekend.”

“Quit,” Hongjoong drawled with a whine, pouting at the two with mock indignation, “You two will be far too comfortable and say something like that at the event, if you’re not careful. Then I’ll be expected to punish you both and then we are all fucked.”

Yunho laughed, cheery and unworried as he ever was. Nothing seemed to perturb the man- nothing ever dampened his fire. “That’s why we are getting it out now!” 

Hongjoong rolled his eyes and fiddled with the long cape he was wearing to distract himself from the lingering feeling that Yunho’s initial comment had left within him. The outfit was the one he had worn on his last practice day, though with heavy gold jewelry draped around his neck and waist, a hat already pressed over his hair and chunky snow boots adding a little to his height. Around his shoulder was a velvet and fur cloak, his quiver tucked beneath it- he would remove the cloak for the active part of the competition, wearing it only while concerned about the cold. He didn’t look at that royal today, more casual than most of his public appearances would deem appropriate, and something about it was invigorating. Today he would be presenting as an _archer_ , his royal title discarded if only momentarily.

As the carriage came to a halt, he felt the nerves nibbling away at his fingers, the adrenaline of the coming events finally hitting his systems. Yunho was the first out and the one to open the door and Hongjoong couldn’t help but focus on the way his hands trembled as he gripped the handle to hop out. The nerves were soothed, though as he watched the door to the carriage behind swing open, knowing Seonghwa would be joining him. Madame Choi was the first out, long emerald green dress and deep red cloak framing her nicely and her greying hair done elegantly with silver and green decor. Seonghwa followed and Hongjoong felt the smile melting from his face as awe replaced his excitement. He hadn’t seen the Doctor the entire day, having been rushed around by Madame Choi and simply reassured that the Doctor would be joining them, and the sight of him was an admirable and rather dazzling surprise.

Seonghwa was dressed in an entirely black suit, the buttons on his shirt were silver as was the buckle on his belt. Rather than a typical suit jacket, he wore an ankle length black coat that cinched at the waist without a belt with a wide collar and a hood pulled over his head, giving him a mysterious silhouette that Hongjoong knew would have the townsfolk whispering. His makeup was done with silver shimmer and sparkles highlighting his features, dark eyeliner making his eyes appear more curved and sharp. A necklace hung in the center of his chest, a large silver dragon with its head pointed towards his chin and tail dropped towards his belly button, with its arms outstretched sideways as though it were a distorted cross. 

Seonghwa waved a black leather gloved hand at Hongjoong and to his wonder, the fingertips of the gloves were sharp with a pointed metal piece on the end acting as sharpened claws. Seonghwa wore heavy looking black boots that Hongjoong was certain would sound like thunder in the castle, but in the snow they simply crunched and squeaked quietly as he made his way over. 

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong breathed before clearing his throat into his own gloved hand, and corrected himself, “Doctor. You look...different.”

Seonghwa smiled softly, lips already pinker from the cold, eyes slightly downcast, “I was informed that I must dress the part as a royal staff member now when in public. After all, I reflect directly on you now that I am in your staff.”

Hongjoong forced himself to smile despite the dryness of his throat and the lack of strength in his bones. “Yeah, I guess that is now true, isn’t it? I must admit, I like this look on you. You look like a dragon.”

“Well, I suppose you could call me the _Dragon Doctor_ , then, instead of _Witch Doctor_.” Seonghwa teased, but Hongjoong simply couldn’t look away from the way he literally shimmered underneath the watery winter light. His sandy blonde hair was intricately styled underneath the hood unlike normal and he could see that there were streaks of silver glitter dashed through as highlights and Hongjoong felt faint at the knowledge. 

“I guess I need to be careful then, Doctor,” Hongjoong said finally, almost forgetting that they were not alone in the world nor in the moment, onlookers watching the entire conversation carefully. Hongjoong hoped his words didn’t give away more than they should, though he often found himself unable to speak nothing but the truth to Seonghwa. “Looking like this you’ll never know who will try and steal you from me.” 

Seonghwa blushed, cheeks rosy from more than the nipping cold and Hongjoong thought he looked like the roses in the garden, the ones that would bloom peach and yellow and pink. Seonghwa belonged there, in the garden, surrounded by nothing but beautiful nature, rather than a stuffy office in a stuffy tower. He shook his head, the movement catching Hongjoong from his thoughts, then spoke in a rather dreamy tone, “I only go home with champions.”

Hongjoong thumped his chest with a closed fist, grinning upwards at the Doctor with all his teeth exposed. “Then allow me to win.”

The first few rounds were easy challenges if Hongjoong was honest, untroublesome and slightly simple in their design. The first had been a boring target shooting event- short range and long range, both of which were far below his skill level. Each round he ranked in the highest tiers, achieving nothing but perfect scores each round. Still, at the end of the rounds he looked to the canopy in the stands where Seonghwa was perched, the heavy red and gold fabrics creating a warm, open faced cube in which his entourage resided. He wasn’t sure what he was searching for in the eyes of the dragon overlooking his treasure, but when their gaze met Seonghwa smirked and fake yawned, patting his mouth dramatically as he did so. The action earned him a jeering laugh from Yunho who was stood at the arm of his chair. Hongjoong took the response to heart and used it to fuel his competitive nature.

The next event had been moving targets; bullseyes swinging, objects thrown into the grey sky, everything of the sorts. Hongjoong had aced them all easily, sitting pretty at the top of the scoreboard, the announcer calling him as first place in that event. He knew that realistically it was all due to the amount of practice he had put in, but something also told him it was partially credited to the dragonlike man sitting in the stands watching him. Hongjoong had incentive to win, the Doctor’s words echoing in his mind _I only go home with champions._ There were many ways that Hongjoong wanted to take that, many ways that Hongjoong wanted to interpret the words. Hongjoong tried not to let his mind run amuck with too many fantasies, but regardless, he let himself use it as motivation to maintain his seat at the top. That time when Hongjoong had stepped down from the podium after being announced the lead in the event, Seonghwa had given him an almost patronizing and slow clap, lips barely tugged outwards. Hongjoong was just grateful the Doctor was enjoying the spectacle.

The final course was hours later, the day more than halfway over by then. The last event was what Hongjoong had been most excited about, though, and had been looking forward to it the entire day knowing that it would be the true test of his skills. It was an active course in the open field, the barricades being dragged away to leave an open arena. His quiver was filled with blunt tipped arrows with paintballs on the ends and the targets being black clad people who’s goal was to make it to Hongjoong. Hongjoong’s goal was to hit every guard before one could reach him, the course ending when he had marked all of them or one successfully captured him. Each contender had a different color paint to signify who was able to hit what target and where, the points being earned depending upon the area of shot, the amount of guards hit, and if the contender was able to avoid capture. 

Hongjoong was positively vibrating at the opportunity to not only showcase his archery but his improvisation and deftness, an actual test on his proficiency. Something in him wanted to impress Seonghwa, wanted to show off his capabilities and wanted the Doctor to marvel him. He knew that Seonghwa would admire him regardless, would praise him regardless, but Hongjoong wanted to feel like he had _earned_ it. Hongjoong wanted to genuinely astonish the man; he wanted to feel as though he had secured himself a spot within the Doctor’s mind as something _powerful_. 

Hongjoong was the third contender to participate, his name being called up over the creaky speakerphone. Half of the guards were splotched with white paint, the shots sporadic across their body, meanwhile every guard had splotches of blue decorating their bodies as the second contender had cleared the whole group. 

Hongjoong found the challenge delicious, barely listening as the announcer introduced him and the guards gathered in formation once again. His only acknowledgement of his turn was him unclipping his cloak from his shoulders. As the fabric fell to the earth in a puddle behind him, he glanced over his shoulder to look at the stands, eyes quickly finding those of the Doctor’s he was searching for. The Doctor gave him a small nod, a small smile, and Hongjoong felt ready to conquer the world. Seonghwa was watching and Hongjoong was determined to provide him with a memorable show.

The alert bell set him back into focus as the timer counted down from five, bringing his nerves alive with every sound. The guards were in a wide but tight shape and made for a rather intimidating wall. The area in front of Hongjoong was mostly flat grass, but not far beyond the formation was the beginning of a forest, the trees thin and personlike, adding to the wall of targets. He didn’t wish to disappear into the forest, wanting to remain completely visible for the Doctor’s enjoyment. He would stay mostly in the center of the arena to be watched as a perfect spectacle.

On the final beep his arm moved faster than the first guard and he was able to snag an arrow from his quiver and notch it, though he didn’t watch as it whistled into the center of his chest, already moving onto the next guard. There wasn’t time to admire his work, instead he held faith that his shot would land every time.

Three were moving forward in fast and uneven strides, two zigzagging behind the other in a distracting pattern and he felt himself backing up as the line approached. He knew that there was a limited space behind him, the wall of the arena and the support for the stands soon ending his space. He made a plan quickly to take care of the three approaching him and then find more space for comfort. He notched his arrow and took out the first guard, making quick work of the zagging two.

After the three were accounted for he ducked through the opening between the two perpendicular sets of stands in the arena full of spectators, racing around the outside dog run of the arena to come around to the other side. He shot off several arrows at the guards coming around to trap him inside as he made his way in, clearing the path. Once his front was cleared and safe, he spun around and hit the ones trailing him in a consecutive line of singing shots, emptying the way he had entered. 

He refocused his attention to the path in front of him where several guards were aiming to meet him halfway in the dog run, blocking his exit. _One, two, three_ , he counted silently as he hit them in the chest, vibrant red splattering there, and then shoved past to exit the run. On the other side, the guards were making their way to him, but he continued following the wall, heading towards the farthest end of the course before the forest began, cornering himself in so none could sneak around the back. From there, there was nowhere for them to come from besides directly in front of him, giving him a clear line of shot _and_ an accurate estimate of targets left.

From this point, they were easy to shoot, the lines of them dissipating quickly as he landed shot after shot in the center of their chests, watching red overtake the previous blue and white splatters. Hongjoong counted them down from fifteen to ten to five until he shot his final arrow into the guards chest. With a beaming and prideful smile he jogged back to the starting point, the feeling of accomplishment settling heavy in his chest. When he made it back to a near and visible spot for the small canopy, he looked directly to the Doctor. Seonghwa stared back at him with an expression overfilled with something that was akin to amourous, eyes sweet below his dark hood. Hongjoong didn’t look to any other in the canopy nor anyone else in the stands, his eyes laid solely on his incentive to win. 

He bowed low at his waist once he was certain the Doctor’s attention was on him, arm bent across his hips and chin dipped to his chest. He wasn’t sure how everyone would read the action, whether or not they acknowledged that it was directed at someone in particular or if they would assume it to be a polite gesture. Hongjoong couldn’t find it in him to care whether the townsfolk whispered about the dragon that accompanied him, not when Seonghwa inclined his head politely, looking every bit of royalty by nature that Hongjoong vied to swallow.

\---  
Seonghwa wasn’t shocked when Hongjoong sauntered over the group after the competition had finished at sundown, a corded gold medallion hung around his neck that glinted almost boastingly in the fading light. He was bewildered, however, when Hongjoong snatched his hand from his side and pulled the medallion from his neck with his free hand. Hongjoong dropped the medal into Seonghwa’s hand with a brilliant smile, eyes and fingers lingering on his palm for a moment too long. Hongjoong hadn’t spoken the entire exchange, though there was something burning in his dark iris’s, something Seonghwa wasn’t sure if he was prepared to address. He looked as though he were about to say something, something lingering just on the tip of his tongue. It seemed as though he swallowed it back and spoke plainly, his words settling deep in Seonghwa’s chest, “I’m a champion.”

Seonghwa smiled, genuine and warm despite the chill of a winter evening settling in. There were things he wished to say as well and when Hongjoong’s hand dropped from his, one of the things was _don’t let go_. He, too, swallowed his words, though. There were too many prying eyes and too many unwelcomed stares and too many loose lips. “I’m very proud of you, Your Highness.”

Hongjoong’s eyelashes fluttered, fingers gripping his cloak as he looked suddenly shy, hiding within the heavy fabric. Again, Seonghwa wanted to say something, but the words weren’t finding his tongue and it seemed as though Hongjoong was having the same problem. There were so many things to say, so many things to express, yet it felt impossible to do so in a manner that was befitting the moment they were in.

It was Yunho who spoke next, interrupting the breeze filled silence, as he seemed to appear from the snow on the ground. “Why don’t we go home? It’s freezing here.”

Seonghwa thinks that it was better to settle on words unsaid, anyways. Some things just weren’t meant to be spoken aloud when everything was perfectly understood.


	5. From Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me, I should know. I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello~~~ this chapter is.....a lot, but it’s one of my ~favorites~. it’s a long one so strap in for this rollercoaster.
> 
> song of the chapter is [From Eden](https://open.spotify.com/track/5aRZk9oWIYUB5alrTs8TTV?si=9wHEhGBsRB-bQSwz_E6Fqw) by Hozier

In the weeks that followed the competition and the heavy snows, Hongjoong was beginning to discover that Seonghwa was a weak, _weak_ man. Seonghwa had known this for a while, had begun to suspect the feebleness in his resolve. The Doctor seemed completely unable to refuse anything that the Prince requested, despite his better judgments, and Hongjoong was beginning to become acutely aware of such and take advantage of the fact. 

Tonight, Hongjoong had called Seonghwa to his chambers with the claim that his presence was needed _direly_. When he arrived at the familiar door, Yunho refused to stay in the hallway upstairs, disappearing with a pat on his shoulder and a mumble of luck as he appeared once again far too informed for Seonghwa’s liking. Yunho’s absence was always a warning sign for Seonghwa that nothing good was beyond Hongjoong’s chamber door, the butterfly motif daunting. The Guard seemed more in tune with Hongjoong’s more salacious moods and habits, more cued in as to when it was better to be dust and shadows.

When Seonghwa gathered his nerves that had fallen and shoved the heavy wood door open, he found he was correct in his assumption that this was yet another one of Hongjoong’s horrid games. 

Hongjoong was sprawled out on his bed, draped in a black silk robe that glowed in the lighting and Seonghwa was afraid to ponder on if he was clothed beneath it or not. Hongjoong’s makeup was still intact from earlier in the day, the browns and golds on his eyelids appearing more smudged and smokey now, hair slightly disheveled as though curious fingers had explored the strands already. He wore sheer stockings on his feet that curved up his slender legs and ended midcalf, the top seams just below the end of the robe. Seonghwa could see the silver ring on his finger glint in the low-lighting nearly making him groan, the scene entirely too illicit to be considered _appropriate_. Seonghwa wondered if there had even been a time where the two of them and their _moments_ had ever been appropriate.

“Doctor,” Hongjoong greeted innocently, head tilting, causing his many earrings to drip towards his shoulder in glittering strands. They were long and thin jewelry pieces today, teardrops and diamonds creating a rainfall curtain around the shell of his ear, shining and noticeable even from the distance. “I thought you would never come.” 

Seonghwa stepped in and closed the door behind him- against his better judgement that told him to head home for the evening: Against the judgement that told him to _run_ : Against the judgment that shrilled in his mind with flashing red lights _he is sworn to chastity and you are_ filthy _for tempting fate._. The sound of the door latching sent a harsh shudder over his spine, almost igniting his fight or flight responses. Seonghwa wondered when Hongjoong had leashed him and when he had become brave enough to use the tether. Outside, the sun was setting and he was definitely supposed to be off work by now and heading home to Milo, but with the Prince staring at him with hooded eyes and a playful smile, he was completely rooted in place. 

A part of him wanted to express the fact that if the Prince called, he would always respond, but he didn’t wish to give the sly minx any more ammunition than he already had obtained. Instead, he squared his shoulders and let the mask fall back over his face, the one he had handcrafted from paper mache and used for years to cover emotions he never wanted shown. “What do you need, Prince?” 

Hongjoong pouted, tilting his head back and exposing the expanse of his neck, the skin that haunted Seonghwa’s thoughts as he imagined exactly what it would taste like under his tongue. The robe felt like a formality as Hongjoong settled back on his hands, his feet wobbling cutely, the entire shape of his form vaguely visible beneath the thin fabric. His head lolled to the side when he spoke, expression illusory with eyes wide and feigning a plea, “My shoulder is bothering me, Doctor Park.” 

Seonghwa sighed and slid his jacket from his shoulders, resigning himself to his fate, folding it neatly. He rested it on the chair in the center of the room, leaving it with his nerves and regrets, sure to pick them up later. Taking careful and cautious steps to approach the Prince, he moved like a slow encroaching fog as the Prince watched his every move. “Is it now?” 

“Yes,” Hongjoong insisted, lips puffing slightly in a pitiful manner that almost made Seonghwa coo at the man. Hongjoong, for all of his appeals and foxy behaviors -both intentional and unintentional-, always broke at some point with an expression so captivatingly darling that it shed some of the tension he created. “It’s still sore from the competition. I think something is wrong.” 

“The competition was over a week ago, Prince. If your shoulder still hurts, I think you are injured.” Seonghwa said gingerly, still making his way across the grand room with nearly soundless steps. He felt as though they were being watched, even if only by the ghosts of the castle, all of them eyeing Seonghwa to ensure that he didn’t defile the purity of the heir.

Hongjoong hummed playfully, kicking his feet and letting them bounce on the bed after, still leaning back on his elbows to maintain his view of the Doctor. Hongjoong created such a strange atmosphere at times that it made Seonghwa question whether he knew of the tension he hand-sewed into him or not. “I think it’s just a knot. Maybe I slept wrong. Will you help?” 

Seonghwa wanted to deny him; he wanted to say no; he wanted to head home; he wanted to leave that pretty silver ring sitting imposingly on Hongjoong’s equally as pretty hands. Seonghwa was a weak man, however, as both were understanding, and the way Hongjoong pouted his lips was enough to break all his left over resolve. The words came easily to him as he arrived at the edge of the Prince’s bed, looking down at him and admiring the way that he looked against the deep red and gold of his bed. Hongjoong’s eyes were soft in the lighting, glittering raw jade as they stared up at him hopefully- hopeful for _what_ , Seonghwa was never able to comprehend, never able to fathom. Seonghwa was completely unable to understand _why_ Hongjoong wasted any of his time on him, but the words fell reverently from his tongue regardless, “Of course, My Prince.” 

Seonghwa rolled his dress shirt sleeves up, cuffing them at his elbows as he stood in front of the Prince, though the small distance between him and the bed felt grand. He was a mere step away, looking down his nose at the Prince, attempting to erase the image of the Prince from his mind as he saw it, praying his mind's eye wouldn’t capture it and haunt him with it at a later time. Hongjoong was looking up to him through his long eyelashes, knees bent together and robe sliding up his thighs, exposing far more soft, cream colored skin than necessary. All of the color of summer had faded from Hongjoong’s skin, leaving him a snowy shade mimicking the weather outside- a fragile look, as breakable as the snowflakes but as harsh as the cold. Seonghwa felt as though he were on fire with the sight and put every ounce of restraint he had into not ripping the thin fabric from his body and feeling just how similarly delicate Hongjoong felt compared to the silk. 

It was moments like these where Seonghwa _knew_ that Hongjoong _knew_ his dilemma; that he could see it as though Seonghwa’s inner workings were on display for him; that he _loved_ his confliction. Seonghwa could see the way that Hongjoong devoured his presence and it sent shivers through him. The Prince was a _menace_ , if Seonghwa thought too much on the topic.

Hongjoong blinked innocently, with a modest smile. He looked as though he were watching Seonghwa make tea, or perhaps cuddle Milo, or even something as boring as reading a book- he looked far too casual, far too relaxed. He was holding a mask similar to Seonghwa’s up as he shifted his legs and Seonghwa’s patience. In a tone far too coquettish to be natural, he asked softly, “How would you like me?” 

The implication was there, the phrasing was there, the intent was _there_. Seonghwa could cry in frustration, but he swallowed his tongue and jerked his head towards the pillows. He kept his voice even and tone subdued to hold onto some resemblance of professionalism, though he was certain that had entirely dissipated the moment he entered the room- perhaps even before that. “Either on your belly or on your back, give me whichever side is the problem.” 

Hongjoong stared at him for only a second before he sat up and rolled over to crawl up the bed. Seonghwa ignored the shape of his back and the curve of his waist by busying himself with hunting for the oil he knew Hongjoong kept near his bed, having recommended it for the more difficult nights after practice. It had been with completely innocent intent; Hongjoong had complained about the way his muscles ached after hard practices and Seonghwa had recommended he massage the problem areas when the Doctor couldn’t be around to do so for him. Seonghwa had recommended a plain vegetable or fruit-based oil to use rather than a lotion, the slide easier on the skin and the scent wouldn’t agitate his senses as he attempted to sleep. Hongjoong had thanked him for the advice and had let him know every time he had used it so they could focus on what was irritating and tiring those muscles. When he found the vial, though, he was surprised to find it nearly empty, despite the Prince having only discussed it with him thrice, his eyes flitting between the vial and the Prince. Hongjoong hadn’t told him he had been needing to use it for muscle relief still, hadn’t mentioned any pains or soreness since their competition save for _now_.

He looked to Hongjoong with a raised eyebrow, the Prince’s single visible cheek blushing as he buried his face into the pillow slightly. The Prince’s voice was slightly muffled, lips squished and eyes averted from the sight in front of him, “What?”

“Use it often?” Seonghwa asked, tipping the vial and watching the remaining liquid slip to the front. He was teasing the Prince, only allowing himself to loosen the grip on his self restraint slightly; if he were going to be cornered into moments like these, he was going to make the most out of them.

Hongjoong scowled at him, face still slightly squished as he raised his feet to kick his butt in a slightly childish manner, a distinctly precious attitude forming in his eyebrows. “I’ve been giving myself massages.” 

“Right.” Seonghwa conceded with a wicked grin and Hongjoong squinted at him with a tinge of annoyance lacing his features, looking every bit of pretty as he had upon the Doctor’s entry. Seonghwa merely dug his free hand underneath the pillow to drag Hongjoong’s arm out from underneath it, ignoring the Prince’s crooning protests. He rested it by the edge of the bed before letting his fingers dance around the lip of the robe, uncertainty pausing his ministrations. “May I?” 

Hongjoong nodded and buried his face into his pillow as Seonghwa slipped the robe just past the curve of his shoulder. Seonghwa may have moved the fabric further than necessary, but he convinced himself it was in case he needed more space than he had. Seonghwa was surprised to see the thin straps of what he assumed to be a camisole bent around his shoulders and found comfort in the fact that Hongjoong wasn’t _naked_ beneath the cloth, the information soothing him if only slightly. Seonghwa dripped some of the oil into his hand before drizzling it over Hongjoong’s shoulder and recapping the vial with a quiet noise that had Hongjoong burying his nose deeper into the pillow. Seonghwa spread it in his hands slowly, Hongjoong’s eyes peeking out to watch the way his hands worked over each other with rapt fascination. 

The moment Seonghwa’s hands landed on his shoulder again, his face disappeared back into the fabric, body slightly tense, muscles alert. Seonghwa tapped his neck twice in a playful attention grabbing manner, attempting to dispel some of the heavy energy. His tone was overly sweet but still just as calming as it ever was when he spoke, bending at the waist to get only the smallest bit closer as he spoke, “Hongjoong, you need to relax otherwise this gets very difficult.” 

Hongjoong sighed heavily and slowly relaxed, muscles loosening and body calming as he settled into the idea of the Doctor working out his tautness. Seonghwa waited until he had melted into the bed fully, head turning to face Seonghwa once again. Only then, did Seonghwa dig his fingers into the soft flesh of his shoulder, kneading gently at first. 

The room was silent as the sun set beneath the treeline, leaving the room in a dying light. The sunset tonight was grey as it was every other winter night, but something about the faded light it gave off was incredibly intimate, especially since Hongjoong only had the small lamp beside his bed turned on. The two were encased in only the presence of the other, which brought an emotion out from deep within Seonghwa’s chest, one he couldn’t pinpoint yet knocked the breath out of him regardless. It was a weighted yet airless feeling, as though he were filled with helium and rocks all at once. He found that around Hongjoong, he often felt like this- like they were entirely alone in the world and he were the only one to ground him from floating away.

“Seonghwa?” Hongjoong sighed, bringing Seonghwa’s attention back to him and away from his thoughts. Seonghwa often left in his own mind, disappearing from the real world into that which he could create- his parents had labelled him a vivid daydreamer. Around Hongjoong, however, Seonghwa often found himself unable to become lost in his mind, the real world _far_ more appealing, in many ways.

“Yes, My Prince?” Seonghwa wasn’t unaware of what the honorific did to him, wasn’t unaware of the effect it had. It was partially why Seonghwa used it as often as he did, even in such private settings. Seonghwa loved the way that Hongjoong would shiver beneath his fingers, tremble only slightly, stutter only barely, at the use of such a term in such a way. He used it teasingly, he used it admiringly, but mostly he used it _longingly_ , the term falling from his lips with a hollowing feeling.

“You have no plans of leaving me, correct?” Hongjoong’s voice was raw as it often was in these moments. Seonghwa was able to bring out his insecurities and soothe them all in the same breath and it was the entire reason that Hongjoong found it so easy to be vulnerable around the man. Seonghwa knew this, because he often felt the same for the Prince. 

Seonghwa was smiling when he answered, fond and warm and as sincere as he could ever be, “I have no intentions of ever leaving you, Hongjoong.” Seonghwa freed one hand and used it to tilt the Prince’s face slightly, adjusting him so he was looking up at him as he continued to work. His eyes were heavy and his cheeks warm and he looked sweet with his face squished against the pillow as it was. Seonghwa chuckled softly, digging his fingers into a tender spot that had him squinting his eyes in response. “Tell me, My Prince, how is it that we meet every day, yet every meeting feels as though it is a memory?”

Hongjoong smiled softly, almost nostalgically, as he became used to the feeling, Seonghwa’s words catching up with him. “Perhaps it’s how you seem to be stuck in your head most of your life. You’re always living in the future with your daydreams.”

“This feels as though it is a daydream.” Seonghwa said honestly, fingers still pressing into supple flesh, though the area no longer ached. “This feels as though it is a dream and I will wake any moment to find it gone.”

Hongjoong sighed, though Seonghwa couldn’t pinpoint the emotion behind it and it felt heavy and tasted like salt- the salt that remained after tears dried and Seonghwa felt his heart ache slightly. The Prince looked content, if not a bit melancholic, though, as he responded, “Perhaps it is a dream within a dream, Seonghwa. If you awaken from it, you can continue it. You never have to leave if you never wish to wake up.”

Seonghwa felt as though he could settle with that answer. 

\---   
Seonghwa wasn’t surprised when Hongjoong asked him to accompany him to his next diplomacy meeting with a shy smile and wobbly feet, but he _was_ surprised to find out it was in lieu of Madame Choi’s presence. Seonghwa had only discovered the Queen’s advisor would not be present at the meeting when he was being fitted for his attire the day of. 

Hongjoong looked rather bashful at the admission, lying lazily on one ottoman in the corner with one leg propped against the wall in an improper manner that made Seonghwa look at him with a curious gaze. Hongjoong didn’t look like a Prince then, rather like a young man with too much time on his hands or perhaps a lazy cat left without a sunbeam to purr in. Hongjoong’s fingers fiddled with his pajama pants and Seonghwa simply raised an eyebrow at the Prince avoiding his eyes.

The seamstress tightened the waistcoat around Seonghwa’s body, cinching him not uncomfortably but flatteringly, startling his attention from the Prince. Hongjoong had requested him in a similar outfit to what he had worn at the archery competition, offhandedly saying that he represented Hongjoong’s court best when framed as an _intimidating Dragon Doctor_. Seonghwa thought that he just liked the way he had looked in the attire, but he accepted the excuse gracefully, choosing not to discompose the Prince in front of fellow staff. He had some sense left in his skull and he the remainder to be cautious around onlookers.

Seonghwa allowed his eyes to trail his form in the mirror as the seamstress continued to fuss over the small details, perfection her entire purpose. The waistcoat was stiff black material with velvet and silk vertical stripes that framed the curve of his waist so neatly he swore he had never seen something more flattering on himself. He wore the waistcoat over top a black satin shirt decorated with small gold designs that looked oddly like scales that shone in the light with a silver gleam. Seonghwa didn’t think the patterning was coincidental considering Hongjoong’s newest nickname for him, but he still kept his voice in his mind, occasionally eyeing the Prince suspiciously instead. He didn’t dislike the theme, though he had many inquiries as to _why_ the Prince had likened it to him.

“My Prince?” Seonghwa finally spoke into the silence of the room, ignoring the way the seamstress glanced up at him with an intrigued undercurrent in her eye. He knew that there was a probability that his words were carrying far more weight than he had intended and that Hongjoong was not the only one to pick up on it. The seamstress looked as though she were eyeing a novel that had flipped open, eyes intrigued though confused as she entered the middle of the story. Seonghwa attempted to pay her no mind, attempted to ignore prying eyes that were privy to more than he wished to share.

Hongjoong looked at him in the mirror, the two making eye contact from there, something oddly paralyzing about the indirect levelling. The Prince looked lazy still, collapsed in a peculiar manner, though his expression was unusually empty as though he were forcing himself into a state of nihility in front of prying eyes. He was wearing the mask he often forgot around Seonghwa, the Doctor noted, the one where he pretended to be everyone’s favorite and polite porcelain doll, ready to be dressed and directed as others pleased. Seonghwa preferred the unabashed personality that Hongjoong carried around him in private, though they were not in private and he was a Prince. When he spoke, his tone was weightless and sheer, nothing more than a sheet of tulle fluttering in the dressing room. “Yes, Doctor?” 

“Are you perhaps expecting me to change responsibilities?” Seonghwa watched the way Hongjoong’s cheeks flushed slightly, the warm tone to his honeyed skin matching his hair nicely. The color always made Seonghwa’s chest ache, the desire to brush the heated skin gently making his fingertips shake, though he knew that was one impossible _want_. Hongjoong could never hide the blush, though, could never stifle it nor turn away quickly enough. Hongjoong was good at many things, Seonghwa thought, but hiding his emotions from the Doctor seemed to be a lackluster trait. He would have to tease him for it later, when they were no longer under scrutiny and rumor thirsty tongues. He would be sure to file away Hongjoong’s transparency as something to taunt him with and goad that pretty color back- if he could not relish in it, the least he could do is admire it, he thought.

“No, Doctor,” Hongjoong said, tone growing more opaque the more he spoke, a dramatic air clinging to every syllable as he flailed his arms slightly dramatically before dropping them to his head, “I feel it’s a medical necessity to keep you in the room with me. I fear I’ll faint if left alone for too long.” 

An odd reason, surely one he had intended to follow up with a joke once prompted. Seonghwa was going to press the matter, to feed into his habit of jokerism, but a gentle knock on the door interrupted them and left the matter hanging in the air slightly awkwardly. The seamstress would surely have a joy gossiping behind her hands with fellow staff as they had already begun to do about the pair. Seonghwa almost sighed at the thought, but Yunho’s peach tuffed head popped in through the archway a moment later and dampened the frustration out of him. He couldn’t find it in himself to ever hold an ill will towards the Guard, the man far too resplendent in nature for it to be possible. He beckoned Hongjoong with an apologetically aware look, alerting him to the fact that his own dressing room and his own stylist was ready for his presence. 

Hongjoong paused as the door, hand locked on the doorframe as though he were contemplating if the world would shift underneath him if he turned back. He seemed to decide the risk was worth it and craned his head over his shoulder, sharp nose looking elegant against the wood and stone background. He was eyeing the seamstress rather than Seonghwa, but it was clear his words were aimed at the Doctor and no one else. “Before I go, I’m giving my approval to this outfit. I think the Doctor will represent me beautifully in this dressing.”

Seonghwa didn’t miss the quick glance at him that Hongjoong passed before darting out the door, so brief if he had blinked he would have missed it entirely. The seamstress didn’t seem to have missed it, either, eyes lingering on the empty door frame before she turned back to continue working on Seonghwa’s outfit. There was a long time where the room was silent with implications and Seonghwa’s heavily beating heart, before she spoke hesitantly, clearly searching for something in the mass of confusion she had to have witnessed. “The Prince seems rather fond of you.”

Seonghwa hummed quietly, voice in his chest as he thought about Hongjoong and the feeling of his skin that was softer than silk and the seemingly infinite amount of toothy smiles he passed to the Doctor and the hand-written notes that Seonghwa kept in a hand-carved box in his bedroom from the Prince. Seonghwa thought of the moon reflecting on an early autumn river and the scent of strawberries with lemon and the stars that fell just for the two to align. He thought of the impossibilities and he thought of the possibilities and he thought of what had already come to pass. He thought of nine days of unexpected visitations and he thought of the following week of absence and he thought of the first time he called him by his name because he had been _startled_. He thought of the way that he had yet to find peace in a moment without the Prince since they had met and he thought of the way that the Prince had admitted the same without prompt one night before he left for home. He thought of his routine at night, of every stone step he climbed closer to a room with a butterfly motif and the ache to travel. He thought about the fact that the Prince wouldn’t rest until he bid him a goodnight before he left. 

“Yes,” He agreed, quietly, a small and bittersweet smile tugging his lips in such a subtle manner he was certain the seamstress would not notice. _Hongjoong would_ , the voice in his head mumbled softly as he looked at her through the mirror, _Hongjoong notices everything about you._ “I suppose he does.”

The diplomacy meeting was both everything and nothing like what Seonghwa had expected. The council room of the castle was filled with a small group of politicians while the walls were lined with their individual guards standing like perfect chess pieces on a perfect chess board. Yunho and Mingi were positioned directly behind where Hongjoong and he stood, the Doctor feeling more like a dutiful shadow than an advisor. Standing in front of him, Hongjoong seemed to tower in the space, despite being a rather physically short presence. Hongjoong filled the space around him easily, effortlessly, always appearing larger than life without even noticing.

Hongjoong was dressed in an outfit similar to Seonghwa’s own, though his suit was made of a stunning red that matched his hair, black gloves and gold jewelry grounding the vivid color nicely. There was gold shimmer swept across his facial features once again, making him look as though he were dusted in the remains of a fallen star, the perfect treasure for a dragon to collect and protect. Seonghwa had let the stylist do his own makeup again, dark eyeshadow and eyeliner with contour creating sharper features than he had naturally. It hollowed him and made him appear only the slightest bit more intimidating than he was by nature, features deeper and slightly more gaunt. Seonghwa had come to accept that Hongjoong was insisting on him being known as the _Dragon Doctor_ , something about the reputation having been so appealing to Hongjoong that he couldn’t let it go. Seonghwa knew the other staff had grasped the nickname already as well, his name flittering through the town with the coined name added on. Seonghwa wasn’t sure how to feel about the knowledge of his own rumors, but he had refused to listen to them in fear of accidentally confirming them.

Hongjoong was speaking with a thin man who was just a tad bit taller than him, with long blonde hair and round hazel eyes, his features more angelic than anyone Seonghwa had ever seen previously. He looked like a cherub, the kind painted in churches and in museums, though sharper and more regal. Hongjoong had introduced him as a Duke’s son with the name of Kang Yeosang, a pretty name befitting a pretty face. Yeosang wore an entirely white outfit of a button down shirt and silver feather embroidered corset with white slacks, practically glowing underneath the artificial lighting. Seonghwa mostly kept to himself during the conversation, just admiring the crowds of finely dressed people and the way they chattered like agitated birds. Seonghwa clung to the lull of Hongjoong’s lighter voice and the roll of Yeosang’s unexpectedly deep voice as a way to avoid the cluttered air.

Yeosang made a surprised noise that drew Seonghwa back into the conversation, the sound far higher than any of Yeosang’s previous speech patterns. Draped over his shoulders was a lithe yet broad man with messy black wavy hair and equally black wicked eyes that curved upwards in an almost fox-like manner. He grinned with soft dimples carving his cheeks, an oddly sweet detail for the way he looked as though he were going to swallow Yeosang whole. From the way he held himself, Seonghwa didn’t doubt the man’s ability to follow through with that desire, something innately predatory built into his being. Yeosang didn’t seem to acknowledge him after the initial scare, continuing to talk with Hongjoong as though the man wasn’t there. 

Seonghwa watched as the man in the brocade military style suit pouted in response, cheeks puffing as he nuzzled into Yeosang’s hair. This action finally sparked a reaction from the man, Yeosang grimacing with an offended sneer. “ _San_ ,” He hissed, shoving the man’s chest with a decorative ring clad hand. Seonghwa couldn’t help but notice the lack of the silver band that Hongjoong wore and he wondered briefly if it was only the heir to the throne sworn to chastity. “We are in a meeting. Get off of me.” 

San untangled himself finally, pouting further as he bumped into Yeosang’s shoulder with his own. He looked offenseless in the moment, all candied cheeks and glittering eyes, but Seonghwa felt something inherently _perilous_ about him. He wondered how such a refined and seemingly unoffensive presence as Yeosang had become entangled with someone who carried the aura that San had. Seonghwa stepped a slight bit closer to Hongjoong in the moment that San began whining again, “It’s boring.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes, brushing the complaint off with little thought, but Hongjoong took it all in stride as though he were unsurprised by it. Seonghwa was genuinely unsure of what he thought of the two men they were conversing with. Hongjoong’s voice was friendly, familiar, and it settled Seonghwa’s nerves a slight bit. “It should be beginning soon. Will you two be coming to the spring gala next week?”

“Of course!” Yeosang said with a cute smile, one that made him appear suddenly much younger and much less frigid than Seonghwa had initially thought he was. “I’ve never missed one before.” 

“Yeah and this time I’ll be bringing a date!” San replied with a coy smile, earning him a glare from Yeosang that was nearly pointless as it did little to deter the man. San scrunched his nose and shook his head, looking positively miffed at the antiphon from Yeosang. “Not you! I know this incredible lady who-”

That seemed to have been the wrong response as Yeosang jabbed an elbow deep into his side, causing San to keel over and cough, clutching his stomach as he did so. Seonghwa no longer felt threatened by San, the understanding that Yeosang held his leash tightly was enough to douse him instantly. Yeosang gave Hongjoong a tight-lipped smile, meanwhile Seonghwa’s fingers twitched to assist the man, his medical instincts nipping at his heels now that his initial caution had subsided. He wasn’t a general physician anymore, however, and was assigned solely to Hongjoong’s care and whoever Hongjoong requested him to service. Seonghwa stayed still by the Prince’s elbow, being his own well-trained shadow. The group watched as San straightened again and resumed his position of being draped over Yeosang’s shoulders, though this time with his free hand holding his sore ribs. 

“What about you, Prince? Bringing a date this time around?” San asked as he recovered, voice vibrating from his throat as he bumped his head against Yeosang’s. Seonghwa wasn’t sure of their relationship status, nor was he feeling inclined to inquire, but Hongjoong seemed to read the situation clearly as he laughed.

“No,” He said waving his hand briefly, though inoffensively to any party including Seonghwa himself. “I’ll probably bring my trusted Doctor. Otherwise, I have no plans to be someone’s trophy for the evening.”

San’s eyebrow crooked in interest, glancing to the Doctor at Hongjoong’s elbow, but it was Yeosang who spoke next, “Has your mother not found another suitor yet?”

Hongjoong shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable as he fidgeted with the sleeve of his coat. Both San and Yeosang were looking far too curiously, though San’s was shameless and Yeosang’s reserved. “She has,” He said after a moment, before grinning deviously, “I’m just not interested.” 

“And what about you, Doctor?” San asked, voice slightly condescending in a flirtatious manner as it lilted at the tail of his words, and suddenly Seonghwa felt his fight or flight instincts shift in his mind once again. “Do you have any plans on bringing a second?”

Seonghwa smiled, equally as tight lipped as Yeosang’s had been but far more polite as he dipped his head slightly. “I am far too preoccupied with my work to entertain the idea of a partner. Besides, I wasn’t even aware of a gala.”

Yeosang glanced between Hongjoong and Seonghwa twice before San spoke, his expression equivalent to shattered glass in a museum as he thieved the artifacts, “Hey, ‘Sangie, we could ask him to join us?” 

Yeosang’s elbow dug into his ribs again, surely the same placement as before as the other man squeaked and keeled over, clutching the table behind him for support as he wheezed. Yeosang watched him with a strict glare, one that made Seonghwa slightly nervous.

“ _Us_?” Hongjoong repeated, crossing his arms as he did so, a smile curving his lips. Yeosang’s attention turned back to the Prince, tension melting from his expression as it became replaced with something akin to shyness. “Did your father finally give in?” 

“I wouldn’t say _gave in_ ,” Yeosang sighed, itching the back of his neck with what Seonghwa could only pin as something slightly _mournful_ , “But he is no longer threatening to remove me from the family lineage. He’s worried about the bloodline continuing and whatnot, but I assured him there are plenty of ways to have children. Besides, letting San hang all over me in public hardly means we will be wed in three years.” 

“Hey,” San interjected again, having caught his breath, though a hand still rubbed the inevitably tender and bruising area, “I’d like to think that that would be a perfectly reasonable thing to expect from our future.” 

Yeosang shook his head, a single hand tapping his chin as he assessed the other man. “I can do better.” 

San seemed ready to argue, mouth gaping and eyes wide, before the room’s doors flung open again. Madame Choi entered wearing a velvet purple vest-suit, the shade of the night sky, and a green silk blouse beneath it. She was poised in the same way she always had been, though this time her expression was flat and cold, assessing the once chattering room with intense critique that carried the harshness of winter with it. Following her quickly was several guards, the Queen herself, and then several more guards. The Queen was in a similar suit to Hongjoong, brilliant red matching the long braid that swayed as she walked, heels clicking as she entered. Her features were sharp like Hongjoong’s, though she lacked the sparkle he carried with him in his eyes and his smile. She was sharp, expensive, and vaguely threatening, like diamonds dripping in blood.

The Queen’s guards were different from Hongjoong’s, Seonghwa couldn’t help but notice. They wore the full guard suit, faces covered with helmets and thick armor that was impossible to gain any information about the guard themselves, people carved entirely from obsidian. They were impersonable, cold, _unreal_. They were there to serve their duty and disappear as the shadows they were. Hongjoong’s guards were rarely masked and rarely armored inside the castle, Yunho and Mingi being the forefront of Seonghwa’s thoughts. Hongjoong treated them less like employees and more as coworkers and even more so as friends. As Seonghwa thought about it, Hongjoong treated most everyone he had seen the Prince interact with like that; like they were equals, like they were valued, like they were _friends_. 

The atmosphere of the room shifted instantly, everyone righting themselves and gathering neatly around the large round table like they had been drawn in simultaneously by a magnet. Seonghwa and San stepped back, removing themselves from the inner ring, to stand behind their political representatives. They were there to support, but not intervene; a very strange position to have to take. Seonghwa stared at the back of Hongjoong’s head while his mother made her introductions, her voice echoing and flat, uninterested in what was not business. Seonghwa didn’t care and didn’t truly listen to a word she spoke. He wasn’t here for the politics and he wasn’t truly here as an advisor, either. He had begun to realize Hongjoong just _liked_ having him around. That was enough for him to accept his every invitation. 

Hongjoong stood stiffly now, with his shoulders squared and back completely straight as he clasped his hands at his lower back and kept his chin poised upwards. He looked like a perfect doll, displayed on a shelf in a pristine cupboard, a thought Hongjoong himself had expressed multiple times to Seonghwa’s sympathetic ears. Seonghwa wanted to brush his fingers through the short and soft hair on the nape of his neck- wanted to gently press the muscles until he relaxed into a more comfortable and familiar posture. Seonghwa didn’t. This was a political meeting, one where he was expected to fully be the _Prince_ and nothing of _Hongjoong_. 

So Seonghwa watched, instead. He admired the way Hongjoong would balance courtesy with accountability when others were speaking. He listened to the way Hongjoong addressed the problems brought to his attention by the court with a sureness he hadn’t heard the Prince speak in _ever_. He completely absorbed the power Hongjoong radiated in the meeting and the way that he spoke with no faults in his voice, every word steady and complete. He was truly a _Prince_ , something that was occasionally lost on Seonghwa. Seonghwa had never seen him like this before, not in a personal way. He could remember seeing the Prince on television or occasionally in person for his speeches on holidays, his birthday parties, and major events, but he could never remember feeling so in awe of the young royal. He had grown so comfortable with _Hongjoong_ , he occasionally forgot that _Prince_ wasn’t a nickname borne from teasing.

Hongjoong was royalty. Hongjoong was next in his bloodline for the throne. Hongjoong would one day be _King_. 

Seonghwa knew this, Seonghwa _believed_ this, but seeing Hongjoong in such a setting for the first time permanently cemented it in his mind. The thought hit him square in the chest like a well landed strike, almost knocking the wind from him, as he blinked several times to draw himself from the thoughtlessness he had lost himself in. 

Seonghwa’s brain caught onto the conversation slowly as he realized it was another diplomat diagonally across the room speaking to Hongjoong. He was tall, with olive skin and caramel hair and eerie blue eyes that gleamed like gunmetal under the lighting. He appeared older than Hongjoong, much older, and his expression seemed far too unimpressed for Seonghwa’s liking. His presence felt slightly offensive and it made Seonghwa’s hackles rise; he disliked the concept of anyone addressing the Prince in such a manner.

“What I am telling you, My Prince, is that that area could be vital for the expansion of my region.” He was insisting, knuckles clenched by his side in an almost threatening manner. Seonghwa wasn’t certain of the man’s status nor where he had come from, but the tone he used to speak to Hongjoong with was enough to have him curling his lip in distaste. He disliked hearing the phrase _My Prince_ spoken with such a vile tone and he especially disliked hearing it directed towards Hongjoong. 

“And what I am telling you, Chancellor Fern, is that that’s not a reasonable request.” Hongjoong’s voice was even when he responded, lacking one _distinct_ emotion, though Seonghwa could see the way his fingers tightened against each other on his lower back where they were intertwined and how he leaned more into his words than normal. It made Seonghwa want to step up, to be a physical pillar for the Prince to lean on as he stared the older man down. He restrained himself, though, knowing the Prince needed to assert himself with his own strength. To physically support the Prince would imply that the Prince was not strong enough on his own, which would be disgraceful to Hongjoong and potentially life-threatening for Seonghwa. Seonghwa wondered briefly how many years he would serve in the royal dungeon for the amount of times he had laid his fingers on the Prince as is, let alone if he had done such an action in front of a crowd of diplomats. The thought made him shiver as Hongjoong continued speaking, “It’s _private_ land. You are asking me to forcefully remove someone’s property in order for you to build a suburbia. You can find another plot of land. _They_ cannot.”

“How are you going to put the personal _wants_ of one family above the essential _needs_ of many? How is that a considerate decision?” Chancellor Fern didn’t seem to be prepared to back down from the Prince’s judgement call, standing taller as though he were attempting to intimidate the much smaller man. It was a direct challenge, Seonghwa knew, and Hongjoong was doing his best to handle it gracefully yet firmly.

“How are _you_ going to ask me to personally destroy the livelihood of a family in order to support your desire for city-growth? There are plenty of unused plots of land that we can create more housing in, we don’t have to take away someone’s inheritance.” Hongjoong wasn’t sounding any more perturbed than he was previously, but Seonghwa could see the way the strings on his patience were plucking awfully close to threadbare. 

“Of course you are one to speak of keeping inheritance,” Chancellor Fern scoffed and with the words an oddly suffocating atmosphere fell across the room as the Queen watched her son from directly across the room, eyes unreadable and fingers steepled in front of her mouth. _That_ , Seonghwa thought, was entirely a personal jab on the Prince and far removed from appropriate given the setting. 

“I must say I have a distaste for the tone you are using.” Seonghwa was surprised as the words echoed around the stiffly silent room. It was _his_ voice that had spoken, _his_ words cracking the ice. Seonghwa tightened his back and spoke again, figuring there wasn’t a way to make the situation worse than he already had. “It sounds less like you’re attempting to assist your people and more that you’re trying to bully royalty. May I ask what is so important about _this_ piece of land? That you cannot simply pick another lot?”

“Who is speaking to me from the back of the room?” Chancellor Fern sounded _insulted_ at the prospect that someone from outside of the inner ring had addressed him and that made Seonghwa’s hackles rise once more. He was so thankful that Hongjoong was nothing like a majority of the politicians in the room they stood in, so thankful that Hongjoong had molded himself into his own liking and hadn’t followed the path that the others had. Hongjoong was a rarity, untainted by the greed of power.

Seonghwa stepped forward slightly, peering over Hongjoong’s shoulder and head in a more intimate way than he had intended, acting truly as his shadow. Hongjoong didn’t shift away from him, didn’t readjust to provide a different space for the man, didn’t shoo him back, and that in itself told Seonghwa that Hongjoong was giving him permission to continue as he had begun. “My name is Doctor Park.”

“Well, _Doctor_ ,” The Chancellor spoke the title with a snarl that gave away his impression of Seonghwa perfectly clear. He took no offense, allowing the disdain to slide off of him easily, knowing there was truly only one opinion of him that ever mattered. “This isn’t a meeting for interjections and conjectures, especially not from those just _spectating_.”

“He’s not a spectator,” Hongjoong said finally, one hand coming to rub his chin as he assessed the situation, voice casual and collected as though Seonghwa’s presence had stabilized him once more. “He’s training to potentially be my advisor. He brought a fair point to the conversation, Chancellor, one that has my curiosity piqued. Tell me, what’s the reason you are so hyper-focused on this plot? What is there that you’re planning to scavenge under the guise of _progress_?”

The Chancellor stood there quietly for a second, jaw working over itself as he seemed to contemplate his options. When it seemed to grate on the other members' nerves enough to cause uncomfortable shuffling, Madame Choi finally spoke, “Chancellor, if you cannot answer the question then you will be denied a vote at all. Your appeal will be thrown away before you may even place it. Answer the question, quickly now. We don’t have all day for your silence.” 

“It’s valuable land, yes,” The Chancellor said through gritted teeth, his voice gravelly as the unwilling words were ripped from his tongue, “But I insist that the primary reason for acquiring that land is the location of it and the proximity to the rest of the town.”

Seonghwa heard San’s quiet snort and he prayed for the man’s sake that he was the _only_ one who had. If Yeosang had picked up on it, he made no indication, though Seonghwa presumed he was ignoring the man’s behaviors as he didn’t wish to punish him.

Hongjoong hummed and tapped the table with the hand previously holding his chin as he seemed to reach a conclusion, the rings decorating his fingers tinging a disjointed melody in the stiff air. “Ah, I remember now. I have simply misjudged your case entirely, it seems. That area has a well known iron deposit. The mine was shut down several years ago due to the families complaint of it tainting the water with the tactics they were using in the mining. You’re not looking to create a suburbia as I suspected, you’re intending on reopening the mine. The suburbia is an after-thought, something to create once the mine is dry. Chancellor, if you had been honest from the beginning this would have been a much, much easier process.” 

The Chancellor looked uncomfortable under the fluorescent lighting, the grey of the walls and carpeting making him look almost sickly in the brown suit he wore. He wasn’t unattractive, not by any meaning of the word, however all Seonghwa could see was someone with green hands and a lack of a heart. “Chancellor, is this the reason you’re asking to have permission to have the property seized?”

Chancellor Fern shifted his attention to Madame Choi, who was eyeing him with something akin to disappointment and abhorrence. After a moment he admitted, “It is partially the reason.”

“Chancellor Fern, you have wasted a great deal of time in today’s session by proposing a request that you did not state clearly. Instead you made the Prince go on an information fishing session in order to understand what it even was you were attempting to accomplish.” Madame Choi’s expression only grew darker as she spoke, more irritated with every syllable that passed through her lips with sharp pronunciation, “Proposal denied. Come to the next session with clearly stated purpose, facts, and reasonability and you will be heard again. Next proposal.” 

Seonghwa watched the way Hongjoong deflated only minutely as the meeting continued, attention shifted from his and the Chancellor’s debate to Yeosang taking the floor to explain the necessity for more funding into the harvesting town he governed in his father’s district. Seonghwa once again found his fingers itching to find Hongjoong’s in some form of support, but he couldn’t afford to embarrass the Prince again that evening. Instead, he stood behind him, as a dutiful shadow, not leaving the closeness he had created. Seonghwa knew he had spoken out of turn in that moment, knew that he should have held his tongue. As he looked to the claws that curled over his fingers and the scales crawling his chest, he was beginning to understand the weight of the nickname _Dragon Doctor_ , and he couldn’t find it in him to regret his actions. 

\---  
Hongjoong tried to avoid the throne room at all costs, disliking the general aura of the room. It was far too open, the ceilings arched and so high it made him wonder how they were so dust free and neat. Everything in this room was entirely spotless, from the marble floors to the rows of matching pillars, to the stained glass windows that made the room bleed every color of the rainbow during sunrise and sunset hours. It was sunset hours currently and Hongjoong was having a difficult time keeping his eyes off of the Doctor standing next to him, drenched in shades of red and yellow from where he stood in accordance to the glass’s pictorial. His sharp features were outlined wonderfully in the colors of a raging fire and Hongjoong found himself ready to immolate in the middle of the barren room. 

Hongjoong glanced away quickly, looking to Madame Choi who stood beside his mother’s empty throne that should one day be filled by himself, tall and broad with heavy stones carved into the shapes of lions as feet and petrified wood glossed with gold as a frame. His mother had been more absent as of late, attempting to ease him into the position he was slowly growing into. Hongjoong couldn’t tell if he appreciated the space or not. 

“Prince,” Madame Choi’s voice snapped like the tail end of a whip as she reached an arm out and gestured to his own throne, slightly smaller and more daintily carved with thin stone being shaped into wood branches surrounding paisley patterned oxblood satin cushions. Hongjoong had long ago decided to trade his mother's throne for his own when he was crowned. His throne felt more representative to who he was and who he _would_ be. “Please take a seat.”

Hongjoong followed orders dutifully like a good Prince would, ignoring the phantom cold that swept through him as he sat on his throne- his red suit was plenty warm for the weather, but nothing ever chased the chill of carrying burdens. 

“Doctor Park, you spoke out of turn during today's meeting,” Madame Choi said from her spot on the other side of the dais the throne’s were perched on, “You interrupted both the Prince and the Chancellor. If you had something to say, you should have followed procedures and spoken when appropriate. Prince, how are you to manage a Kingdom if you cannot manage a simple castle-staff? Find an appropriate punishment.”

Hongjoong hummed, eyes looking down his nose and trailing the length of Seonghwa’s body as the man stood a slight distance away. Seonghwa still wore the attire he had been fitted for, the black outfit elongating him in a rather addictive manner. Seonghwa’s eyes were glued to the stairs, looking blank in the bleeding light like a canvas being worked on by the sun. Hongjoong tapped his chin as he crossed his legs, getting comfortable in his throne that he suddenly felt far too large for. Looking down at Seonghwa from this angle made him feel as though he may actually grow into his mother’s throne, but only if he continued to preen under the Doctor’s gaze. As he shifted, the Doctor’s eyes finally found his again and the two did nothing but stare at each other in the multicolored atmosphere for a moment. 

“She’s right, Doctor,” He said finally, voice low in his throat but echoing throughout the room with the churchlike acoustics, “Step forward.” 

Seonghwa looked skeptically at him, but followed orders equally as dutifully as Hongjoong had. Seonghwa walked until he made it to the first step of the dais and waited for another indication he should continue. Hongjoong decided to leave the man slightly on edge by giving him no further signals, watching as he hesitantly took the first step. Hongjoong watched with rapt fascination as Seonghwa took two of the remaining three steps and almost made it to eye level with Hongjoong once more. As Seonghwa went to take the last stairs, Hongjoong waved his hand with a swift motion and a bored expression. The Doctor stopped immediately, body frozen as he awaited further instructions from the Prince with a barely suppressed grin. “Kneel.”

Seonghwa blinked at him twice before settling his foot back onto the stair with the other. He nodded carefully, slowly sinking until his knees hit the top step and he was an arm’s length from Hongjoong’s own knees. Hongjoong attempted to remain passive, expression bored and disappointed, but there was a fire coursing through his system as he stared at the man kneeling before him. It was a nearly holy sight, Hongjoong thought, to see him kneeling in the stained light before him, asking for forgiveness. His chest fluttered and his hands were growing sweaty but nothing could compare to the heavy feeling in his stomach that was a quick reminder to him to ask Yunho to stay _far_ away from his chambers that evening. Hongjoong tapped his chin to distract from the frosty heat coursing from his fingers to his toes, sending shivers over his back and neck. He did what he could to ground himself in front of Madame Choi, whom he nearly forgot was there.

“You embarrassed me,” Hongjoong said against his thumb, voice low and contemplative. Seonghwa simply stared at him, eyes wide and starry, glowing underneath the section of blue and green glass-light he had entered on the staircase. He looked as though he belonged in the stained glass, a beautiful mural of a story of a man. Hongjoong truly thought he was beautiful, in more ways than he could count. “You spoke over me. You made it seem as though I do not have the capability of making rational connections on my own.”

Seonghwa blinked, once, twice, thrice, before he swallowed and lowered his eyes. Hongjoong watched as he clasped his hands behind his back, seeming to prepare himself for whatever was next. Hongjoong thumbed his lip before shifting again, feet flat against the floor as he leaned on his elbows, crowding the man despite the distance still between them. “However, this is all only true if you do not intend on accepting the position of my advisor in the future. If you were to accept that position, then I will consider this a mishap during training as you were attempting to learn your job.”

Seonghwa glanced up again, looking through his eyelashes at Hongjoong in a way that made his heart stutter and thighs twitch. Hongjoong never had any intentions on punishing the man, had only intended on putting on a show for Madame Choi, but the sight he found was far more of a reward for himself than anything else. Still, Hongjoong would have never allowed any _genuine_ form of punishment to have come for the man, and would have found any and every excuse possible if he denied. “I will consider it, Your Highness.”

Hongjoong hummed again, a buzzing noise in his throat that escaped through his nose and into the cathedral of Seonghwa’s mind, the man’s eyelashes fluttering at the sound. “In the meantime, I think you should apologize.” Hongjoong shifted slightly forward in his seat, his back no longer touching the backrest. Hongjoong was close enough now that if he reached out he could easily pat Seonghwa’s head. He looked at Seonghwa in between his knees and swallowed heavily, chest and confidence caving slightly at the sight. It only became harder to breathe when the Doctor looked up at him again, eyes wide and wet and lips bitten. He breathed quietly, his words so quiet had it not been for the silent echoes of the throne room he would have certainly been unheard, “Apologize, Seonghwa.”

“My sincerest apologies, _My Prince_.” _My Prince_. Hongjoong could melt into nothing but molten gold at that phrase. He had heard that phrase so many times in his life, spoken with contempt, with irritation, with respect, with bored recognition- but never the way Seonghwa said it. Seonghwa spoke the term with a teasing lilt and a revenant purr. He spoke it like the words tasted like a wine he was already drunk on. He spoke the term like he was coercing angels into smoking cigarettes. He spoke it as though he were tempting Hongjoong into something far more illicit than forgiveness.

“You’re forgiven, Doctor.” Hongjoong wanted to reach out and touch the Doctor; he wanted to reach out and trace the Doctor’s slackened lips before sinking his fingers inside; he wanted to play with his hair, pet his neck, carve the shape of his cheekbones into his mind so clearly he could recreate him in clay from memory alone. There was _a lot_ he wanted to do in that moment, but he did none of them, choosing to stare heavily at the man instead.

Madame Choi’s voice interrupted the moment, pulling them both out of the stained glass bubble they had buried themselves in. “Ridiculous,” She mumbled as she stormed off of the dais, heels clacking irritably as she strode across the room to the exit, seemingly having given up on the pair. “ _Ridiculous_.”

\---  
Winter was ending and with the promise of spring, came the spring gala. Hongjoong had formally invited Seonghwa to attend as his personal guest, had insisted that it was common for the advisors to accompany their diplomats. Hongjoong had also insisted it was a friendly gathering, a time for fun and relaxation, something he often didn’t find with these crowds. Seonghwa begrudgingly accepted, despite his distaste for crowds and gatherings and parties, unable to deny the Prince when he gazed up at him with warm jade eyes and cherry blossom smile.

That was how Seonghwa found himself sitting stiffly in clothing far removed from his normal garb in a crowd that was far removed from his normal company. Tonight he had been dressed in thin cloth, veil-like black material baggy around his legs and obscuring his skin just enough for him to feel comfortable, the fabric gradually becoming more opaque until it was completely blacked out at his thighs and up. The waist was cinched tightly unlike the flowy legs with rigid leather sides, the bodice ending just below his collarbone. There was only one sleeve made of the same veil material that ended at the middle of his bicep, accentuating the length of his arms and the broadness of his shoulders. On his bare arm he wore a long glove decorated with glimmering scale-like patterns on the veil-ish material, the gloves ending in silver claws with intricate filigree designs hollowing them. Seonghwa wore heavy combat boots with the outfit, a juxtaposition that grounded the flowy and free nature of the outfit itself. Silver jewelry hung off of his neck and ears, silver powder slicked through his hair and covered his eyes and cheekbones while contour hollowed his features slightly. Once again the stylist had done his eye makeup heavy and dark, curving his face upwards and outwards, elongating him similar to a dragon. He had settled into the branding by now, knowing it was becoming synonymous with his appearance and the way he handled Hongjoong’s presence. 

Hongjoong seemed to appreciate it, the dragon aesthetic attached to him.

Hongjoong had yet to be able to take his attention from the Doctor, even as he stood across from him in the grand hall they were socializing in. The crowd was large, but the room was spacious and Seonghwa didn’t feel as suffocated as he thought he would. Hongjoong, however, was far more suffocating as he completely surrounded the Doctor no matter where he went inside of the room. The man was dressed obscenely today, Seonghwa thought, in a violent red shade brighter than even his hair. The dress was slim, form fitting, and ended at his ankles with a slit up the side that his leg peered out from occasionally, covered in sheer red tights. The heart shaped neckline of the dress curved around his shoulders and enunciated his collarbones and the way his slim body curved naturally. Hongjoong was dripping in diamonds that evening, the heavy jewelry cuffed around his wrists where the red gloves ended and around his neck in almost a collar-like manner, earrings also glittering in the lighting as he laughed and talked with accompanying guests. 

Hongjoong frequently would stare at Seonghwa in the middle of sipping from his wine glass, stained lips smirking in recognition at the attention he was receiving, sparkling eyelids drooping in the yellow faux candlelight lighting. Seonghwa would watch the way his tongue would dart out, gracing his wine stained lips, before revealing glittering teeth that gave away the bell-chime of his laughter. They had shared a single dance that evening before Hongjoong had been whisked away and Seonghwa swore he could still feel the fabric beneath his fingers, could still feel the shape of his waist in his palms and could still feel the heavenly scent of strawberries and cream with a twinge of lemon in all of his senses.

“He doesn’t usually show out like this,” A voice said suddenly beside him, causing Seonghwa to nearly jump from his skin. He turned quickly to see San standing next to him, the man dressed in an elegant navy blue suit with a black lace blouse replacing a typical button down shirt. He looked dashing in the color, the shade bringing out the olive of his skin and the dripping honey of his eyes, though Seonghwa supposed that San only needed his sweet dimpled smile to appear as _dashing_. Seonghwa was certain the man could have shown up in moth-eaten marred pajamas and as long as he smiled and waved, he would look as though he suited the crowd. San continued when he knew Seonghwa was paying attention, “Last year he wore a pretty pink virgin dress, y’know one of those ones they put all the princesses in, in the cartoons?” 

Seonghwa laughed quietly, sure the sound was lost in the crowd but San ate it regardless. The man was much less threatening in this atmosphere, far more of a smooth casanova and easy company. Seonghwa had spoken to him several times that evening and he was beginning to grow fond of the others presence, a much different perspective of the man having formed since he had first met him a week prior. It helped that Hongjoong had soothed some of his concerns about the man later on, but Seonghwa was beginning to genuinely appreciate the man’s presence. Seonghwa quirked a brow and figured he would entertain the man’s line of thoughts, if only momentarily. “I did not know that, no. Why are you telling me this?” 

“Well, you know the only thing that has changed between this year and last year is _you_ , right?” San’s eyebrow was raised again, expression almost as though he thought Seonghwa was joking. San’s hip curved outwards as he lounged against the pillar body curving so much like a sly cat’s that Seonghwa almost doubted him for a second.

Seonghwa hummed thoughtfully, looking back over to the Prince who was watching the two with interest. It was when he caught the heir’s eye and he licked the rim of his wine glass without blinking that Seonghwa lost his ability to doubt San’s words. “ _Oh_ ,” He said simply, looking away from the Prince to save his sanity and instead looking to the amused man beside him. Seonghwa was honest in his answer, “I hadn’t considered.” 

“ _Oh,_ ” San mocked, laughing a second before he bumped Seonghwa’s arm with his own. It wasn’t condescending, his teasing, pure and good-natured, like that of long time friends. Hongjoong had told Seonghwa that San was typically rather reserved with new people, but that when he found someone he was _comfortable_ with, he was an enigmatic presence. Seonghwa was understanding what he had meant as he had watched San quietly mill about behind Yeosang that evening, speaking minimally to those Yeosang encountered and continually seeking out Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s presence. Hongjoong had also said Yeosang was of a similar disposition, shy without fault, but was just better at forcing himelf to socialize. 

Seonghwa tuned back into San as the man raised his champagne and tipped it in Hongjoong’s direction without looking towards the man, eyes still studying Seonghwa with something dark yet not scary lingering in his gaze. “If that’s not an invitation, I’m unsure of what is.”

“His outfit isn’t an invitation for anything, San.” It took a moment for San’s words to fully resonate with Seonghwa, but when they had, he corrected him immediately, looking down at the relaxed man lounging beside him.

“No, no,” San shook his hand dismissively before gesturing to the Prince again, and his tone was earnest, “Not his _outfit_ , Seonghwa. I mean the change in _him_. He’s been more confident with you around. He was bolder in the last meeting than normal. He talked more strongly, made more definitive decisions. He gets a lot of confidence from having you at his back.” 

“Perhaps that’s where I should stay then.” Seonghwa said, looking back to Hongjoong with a wistfully tight feeling in his chest. San was treading into territory that Seonghwa had already fenced off and avoided vehemently.

“That’s _exactly_ what I am insinuating, Doctor.” San’s tone was sing-songy, high and playfully. Seonghwa turned to quickly glare at the man’s implication, but San just showed his dimples in response, “I think you should make your choices quickly, Doctor. The Prince is coming.”

Before Seonghwa could respond, San was disappearing into the crowd as though he were never there to begin with. As quickly as he had arrived, the man had disappeared and Seonghwa was left just as baffled by his presence as every other time they had spoken. 

“Seonghwa,” A warm and familiar voice said next to him, causing him to turn and face the wine flushed Prince, “Accompany me to find some cupcakes.” 

Seonghwa protested when Hongjoong gripped the hand of his not holding his own wine glass, both for the public display and the disbelief of the existence of cupcakes at such a formal event. His protests died when the Prince was pointedly ignoring him, his fingers still clinging to his wrist as he led them. They weaved through the crowd, heading towards the kitchen area as Seonghwa began insisting with unheard statements again as he began to fear the seclusion. “My Prince, there are no cupcakes.” 

When Hongjoong pushed the kitchen door open and the two entered into the now empty space, Hongjoong ushered Seonghwa to close the swinging door behind him. Seonghwa did so without blinking, before realizing the power that Hongjoong held over him was entirely _too_ deep. With the doors shut tight, however, the sounds of the gala were completely silenced, isolation swallowing the two once again, as the outside world dissolved like sugar in water. “There are always cupcakes, Seonghwa, you just need to know where to find them.” 

The silence of the room they were in was oppressing as the true sense of privacy engufled them. Seonghwa was feeling warm already, body tingling from the alcohol settling into his system, knees already slightly weakened. He was already hypersensitive to the atmosphere, but that only increased when he was trapped with nothing but the Prince and his radio static thoughts. 

He watched the Prince wobble along on steady feet and strong resolve as he hunted through cupboards and closets. Seonghwa opened his mouth to chastise him, to convince him to leave the silence of the room with him and return to the crowd where they were safe- where Hongjoong’s pretty silver ring was _safe_ \- but as he did so Hongjoong made a pleased noise, reaching quickly into the last cupboard and turning around with a grin and a plate of cupcakes. 

“Found them,” He said, wiggling his eyebrows and walking back to Seonghwa, a cocky sway to his hips that gave away his preening status. Hongjoong peeled away one of his gloves and handed Seonghwa one silently. Seonghwa took it with his ungloved hand, biting into the already wrapperless pastry with mild amazement for the Prince. Hongjoong hadn’t been wrong about this and he wondered how many times Hongjoong had snuck away from social events to eat pastries in a deserted kitchen. Seonghwa’s wine loosened tongue allowed him to ask the question into the quiet air. 

Hongjoong hummed loudly, kicking his feet into the lower cupboard doors for a second before responding, “I don’t like social gatherings like this,” Hongjoong admitted as he stared at the cupcake, “I never have, really. So when I was younger I would sneak into the kitchen to hide. One time the head chef caught me and when I explained how uncomfortable I was, she said she would always leave me a treat during these events, so that I could get the motivation to continue them. I thought she was joking with me at the time, but she has yet to not leave me a plate of cupcakes and I’ve yet to leave her with a full plate. She’s a wonderful woman, I’ll have to introduce you to her someday.”

Hongjoong looked to Seonghwa finally, watching as the man ate his own cupcake, savoring the way the dark chocolate ganache paired with his raspberry wine. Seonghwa spoke slowly, curiosity nipping at his thoughts, “You have a good relationship with a lot of your employees.” 

Hongjoong shrugged, looking awkward as he took the last bite of the cupcake in his hand. “I appreciate what they do for me. It’s because of them that I get to focus on my work and live in luxury. The least I can do is treat them as such and pay them their worth. I feel like the latter helps more than the former, if I’m honest.” 

Seonghwa mimicked his movement, shrugging, and Hongjoong studied the way the scales of his cloth shifted in the lighting. “I think payment is always favorable, but they would be rather miserable in a good paying job if you treated them poorly. I think that’s why they stay, because you both treat them kindly and pay them well.”

Hongjoong didn’t reply, his expression clouding as he set the plate with the remaining cupcakes down, sliding them away almost thoughtlessly. Seonghwa watched as he licked his lips, eyes landing once again on Seonghwa’s collarbone rather than his eyes. Hongjoong had a habit of looking to his chest when he was thinking, eyes distant and voice strained, “We should go back out, I’ll be being searched for soon.”

Seonghwa finished his own cupcake, licking the small amount of frosting from his fingertips, a motion that Hongjoong caught onto and studied with a slightly slackened mouth. Seonghwa’s eyes caught on his lips then and the way they were shaped so prettily, like a perfectly crafted bow. Everything about the Prince was handcrafted from the finest materials, yet somehow he found himself consistently amazed at the pure beauty that he was. Seonghwa felt his skin burning, self-immolating, and his resistance to his inner desires weakened by wine and San’s traitorous voice. He reached out without thinking, body moving almost as though it were on strings, with the same finger he had licked to brush the petal soft lips of the Prince gently. His lips were soft, warm, and slightly damp from where his tongue had only just retreated. Without removing his fingers from the center of the Prince’s bottom lip the Doctor spoke under his breath in a manner so fragile that even the slightest movement could shatter his excuse, “There was some frosting.” 

Truthfully, Seonghwa couldn’t say if there was frosting there or not. He couldn’t _remember_ , his mind so focused on nothing but the shape and color of Hongjoong’s mouth. When Hongjoong’s tongue swiped over his lips and brushed his fingertip, his jade eyes perfectly steady to Seonghwa’s own, Seonghwa felt as though every tendon in his body had finally snapped under the pressure. Seonghwa couldn’t decide which of them had moved first and he didn’t think it truly _matter_ , when they met in the middle with a clumsy force as Seonghwa’s mouth found his. It was wet and sweet from the pastry, but part of Seonghwa believed that that was simply what kissing Hongjoong would always be like.

Seonghwa’s clawed hand managed to find the curve of his neck and jaw, the tips of the metal just barely grazing the delicate skin there and making him shiver. Seonghwa’s other hand gripped his slim waist firmly as if to ground both of them before gravity failed them and Hongjoong’s smaller hands were able to find purchase by tangling in his once styled hair and suit top. 

The kiss was messy- messier than Seonghwa had ever wanted to kiss someone- but there was something desperate lacing their wine stained lips. He had been thinking about this for longer than he should have, had been thinking about the way the Prince might curve against him, how soft and pliable he would feel, how their height difference may affect it. Seonghwa didn’t have to _think_ anymore, rather he _knew_. 

The Prince curved against him as though he were built to do so, his body molding easily into Seonghwa’s own, so warm it felt as though there wasn’t a barrier between them. With strained breaths and desperate pants, Hongjoong’s sounds were completely eradicating Seonghwa’s remaining threads of guilt at his actions, sounding sweeter than anything his mind could have conjured. Hongjoong was all soft curves and gentle features and hard muscles that felt absolutely addicting to feel but nerve-wracking to explore, the dress accentuating every one of those details without fault. His heels assisted so Seonghwa didn’t have to duck down as far as he had thought, but it was still significant enough that he found himself pressing the other man backwards into the counter for support. Hongjoong’s lower back pressed into the metal and he gasped, freezing for a second, but Seonghwa was lost in the taste of his mouth and simply lost himself further, tongue dipping in to sweep across unexplored areas. 

Seonghwa pulled away only briefly to trail his lips down the Prince’s neck, kissing the skin softly as he did so. He allowed himself to taste the skin he had admired for far too long, satiating the curiosity within him- he tasted salty with the night's activities, but the underlying hint of strawberry was there. Hongjoong melted back into the counter, body collapsing under the gentle ministrations of his teeth and tongue and Seonghwa felt like he was handling the most fragile of glasses with the utmost care. 

“I think we have had too much wine,” Hongjoong wheezed suddenly, laughing slightly with a strained noise as he faced the ceiling. Seonghwa barely acknowledged his words, instead choosing to lift the Prince onto the counter by his thighs with a loud clatter of the metal. Hongjoong’s surprised noise fueled his desire and he allowed his mouth to work over the beautiful calligraphy that was his collarbones. Hongjoong’s head tipped back, falling against the cabinets as he did so, chest rapidly rising and falling as Seonghwa continued making invisible marks across his skin. Seonghwa was nestled perfectly between Hongjoong’s thighs, his hips pressed against the counter as he attempted to remove any amount of space between them to entirely drink the Prince’s presence up and savor it before it inevitably slipped away. One of Hongjoong’s hands found the Doctor’s hair once again as he said breathlessly, “This can’t happen again.” 

“I know, I know,” Seonghwa finally answered, panting against his skin, and Seonghwa _knew_ that the Prince was right. He _knew_ that this couldn’t happen again- _shouldn’t_ happen again- _shouldn’t happen to begin with_. He was sullying his purity. He was tempting fate by crossing lines that were built in stone for eons. Still, Seonghwa let his clawed hand trail up the leg that peered out from the slit of the skirt, over the red nylon there and the plushness of his thigh. Hongjoong’s breath stuttered, legs parting just a little further and Seonghwa slotting himself just a little closer as though he and the Prince could share a single space. As his fingers carved patterns into the soft skin of his thigh, Seonghwa’s mouth returned to his neck, talking softly into his ear with hot breaths causing goosebumps, “It’s just the fact that we have had too much wine.”

Hongjoong eyed his mouth when he pulled back, nearly going cross eyed at either the sensation or the proximity, before he whispered softly, “Please kiss me again.” 

Seonghwa, as Hongjoong had previously established, was a weak, _weak_ man, and could never truly deny the Prince anything he requested. Seonghwa lips found his again, though this time slower, more careful. He worked in easy motions that the Prince caught onto quickly, squirming in his grasp as the Doctor worked on turning him into a boneless pile. Seonghwa wanted to memorize the taste of his lips, the feel of his skin, and the musical sounds that escaped such pretty lips. If this was to be the last time he kissed the Prince he would have to make it last eternity.

Hongjoong pulled away from him with only a breaths width between them, their lips touching as Seonghwa studied his face to memory. He took in every small freckle gracing his skin and the way his eyelashes curved over his cheeks and the gleam of the highlighter dusted on his eyelids. He looked celestial like this, Seonghwa thought, from this close he was positively heavenly and _Seonghwa was defiling that_. Something about the thought of tempting angels with wine and stolen kisses was obscenely arousing to the Doctor and it had him pressing closer to the Prince. 

Before he was able to capture the Prince’s lips once again, Hongjoong spoke with a raspy and amused voice, catching him off guard. “You must be worth my weight in gold, Doctor.”

Seonghwa swallowed heavily, the taste of Hongjoong on his lips, before breathing a quiet response. Eyes fluttering as he attempted to maintain enough control to entertain the Prince’s thoughts, he answered softly, croakily, “Why do you say that?” 

Hongjoong’s eyes met his and in this distance Seonghwa could almost see a reflection of himself in the Prince’s blown pupils, the jade having been swallowed by the darkness, “Because every time I close my eyelids, I find you in my mind. I can never seem to get you out of my thoughts.” Hongjoong’s voice was raspy, deep and almost stuttering and it sent Seonghwa’s last regret to the grave.

“Oh, _My_ Prince,” His voice came from his throat and it made Hongjoong’s eyelids flutter in response, the slightly possessive tone a curling vice that had the both of them chained to the moment. “I definitely fear you have drank too much wine.”

“Yet I have not drank enough of _you_.” Hongjoong was quick to pull the Doctor back into his space, fingers knotted in the hair on his nape, tugging and pulling gently which made the Doctor respond by nipping at his lips.

Hongjoong had never kissed anyone, Seonghwa knew, but he was an incredibly _fast_ learner in all aspects and something about the occasionally clumsy manner he would slide around with when he got too overwhelmed was _intoxicating_. Seonghwa felt as though he could spend all night kissing the Prince, like he could spend every last bit of time he spent on heaven and earth doing so. He could get lost in the way that he moved and tasted and sounded. He could live in this moment for the rest of his life.

Fate had other plans, though it seemed, and the kitchen door swung open with a cry of Hongjoong’s name that stopped far too abruptly as the speaker stumbled upon the sight. Seonghwa was the first to move, flying away from the Prince, as though he had been lit on fire, before the person had even fully entered. The Prince remained dazed on the counter while the moment set in, licking his lips several times as he blinked with heavy eyelids and looked to the intruder.

“Yunho,” Seonghwa addressed, straightening his top while attempting to swallow his heart that had leaped into his throat and clogged his airways. Seonghwa floundered for words, the emotions running through his body far more than he could comprehend in a single moment, overwhelming to say the least. Hongjoong was still looking disoriented and confused, flushed and gone off of more than wine. He managed to gather enough wits to fix his skirt, but was still planted firmly on the counter.

Yunho was simply gaping between the two, eyes wide as he attempted to assess the situation. It took him half a minute to speak, voice chortled in disbelief, as he waved his hands noncommittally, “In the _kitchen_? _Really_?”

Seonghwa straightened his glove in nerves more than necessity as he smiled awkwardly, looking to the door. “I’ll just be heading out then.” 

“Seonghwa,” Yunho said as he shuffled past him awkwardly, stopping the Doctor in his tracks. Yunho gave him a once over and then smirked with a teasing glint in his eye, “You have the Prince’s lipstick on your chin. You might want to stop by the powder room and fix that before entering the crowd again.”

\---  
Hongjoong felt as though he had been caught in the middle of a wet daydream- left feeling embarrassed, dazed, and unsure of what was real and what was imagined. He was positive the wine hadn’t helped, though he wasn’t sure he had actually drunk enough to do anything other than warm his cheeks. Yunho stood in front of him, in the place where Seonghwa had leaped backwards to, replacing the man. He had his arms crossed and a slightly disapproving look gracing his normally soft features, something that made Hongjoong avoid his eyes. “Hongjoong,” He said flatly, though there was a current of worry carried beneath his words, swaying his tone enough that Hongjoong could find the truth of his words. “What were you thinking?”

Hongjoong flinched slightly, unable to stop himself. Despite knowing Yunho’s concerns were valid, hearing the disappointment out loud _hurt_ \- it felt like the time he had tripped and caught himself with one of the rose bushes branches and it felt like Yunho’s exasperated yet gentle hands helping him up and treating his wounds with a tired _I’ll call Doctor Seo_. It felt like a memory locked away he had thought he had forgotten, the pain of desire and nostalgia forming in a heavy tangle in his chest and making his eyes sting. Hongjoong knew that Yunho was only looking out for his best interest; he knew that Yunho only wanted the best for him. The knowledge didn’t stop the ache, though, and he kicked his heels into the metallic cupboard doors as he mumbled, “I wanted cupcakes.”

“So you made out with the Doctor?” Yunho’s voice was slightly shrill, the disbelieving tone evident. Yunho was only doing what was required of him and Hongjoong didn’t resent him for it, but the ache was still present, the unknown emotion making his heart thump against his breastbone with a force that nearly cracked it.

“No,” Hongjoong grumbled, ceasing his kicking, as he rolled his head upwards to finally look at his guard with painful eyes, “I just drank too much wine.”

“You’ve never kissed anyone because of wine, Hongjoong.” Yunho’s gaze was dark and the aching in his chest hadn’t ceased. He wondered if Yunho was mad or if Yunho was only thinking about all the consequences that Hongjoong had attempted to ignore. 

“Yeah, but no one has ever been _Seonghwa_ before.” There may have been enough alcohol left in his system to keep his tongue far too generous with truths he didn’t wish to speak. Hongjoong immediately attempted to swallow the words he had spoken, but it was too late. He didn’t know why he attempted to hide things from the guard still, as though he hadn’t already known _everything_. Still, he followed quickly with, “He was drunk, too. It just happened. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal because _I_ found you. If anyone else had-” Yunho paused, looking sad as he pinched his nose and sighed. Hongjoong watched as he deflated, his shoulders curving inwards. Hongjoong wondered what thought crossed his mind that made him react so suddenly that his facade shattered as worry overcame him. When he looked back to Hongjoong it was with pleading, broken eyes, “Hongjoong, I know he makes you happy. I want you happy. I want you to experience love. You just need to be _careful_.”

“I never lectured _you_ when _I_ caught you kissing Mingi!” Hongjoong defended quickly, lips puffing. He was being childish and he knew it, but something about this didn’t feel _just_.

“That’s not the same thing,” Yunho snapped, though his voice was colored with nothing but an emotion that nearly tasted like fear. Hongjoong knew he was _right_ ; it _wasn’t_ the same thing. Yunho wasn’t royalty. Yunho wasn’t expected to continue a bloodline. Yunho wasn’t upholding a specific, handcrafted reputation. Yunho wasn’t sworn to _chastity_. There was a lot of things that made it _different_. Hongjoong just didn’t want to be the only one unable to experience something as fleeting and comforting as falling in love. 

“I just want to be _loved_.” The words escaped him without permission, mere sobs of syllables if he were completely honest with himself. He was slowly falling apart from the inside out, the cracks finally surfacing and he could do nothing but tremble as he attempted to hold himself together. 

Yunho looked positively broken at the sound and stepped forward with an open chest, “Oh, My Prince,” It took no more prodding for Hongjoong to slide from the counter and to fall into Yunho’s chest, sobbing his own heart out with drunken, wet sounds. Yunho was warm, he was safe, he was something familiar. He didn’t smell like tea and earth, but he _did_ smell like sandalwood and clove and when he tucked Hongjoong’s head under his chin, he thought that was good enough. “You are so _adored_. You are _cherished_. You are so _loved_.”

“I want to be _loved_ , Yunho. I want sunsets and mornings and tea and bickering over whether or not something is pink or purple. I want the hand holding and the hugs and all that mushy stuff. I want that comfort and warmth and I just want _what Seonghwa gives me already_.” Hongjoong hiccuped several times, wetting the fabric of Yunho’s uniform and staining it with makeup. He was certain that he looked pathetic, sobbing into his guards arms with sloppy sounds. This wasn’t the perfectly designed image of a Prince that Hongjoong always had been, but he couldn’t find it in him to cease when the pain was finally peaking. “Why can’t I have _that_?”

There was a long moment where Yunho rubbed his back soothingly, gentle circles pressed into expensive fabric and priceless flesh. He nuzzled into the top of Hongjoong’s red hair, speaking into his scalp as though to force the words into his brain, “You can have it. You just can’t have it like _this_.”

“ _But I want it like this_ ,” Hongjoong cried, voice cracking as he sniffled roughly, “And what if he wouldn’t want to hide it? What if he leaves when I ask for that?” 

“Do you think he is uneducated about your situation? Do you think he is unempathetic?” Yunho was as sturdy as ever in his words, rocking Hongjoong slowly as the Prince finally felt himself calming. Yunho was presenting rationale, something feasible. “If he wasn’t prepared for it, I doubt he would have stuck around as long as he has.” 

“Seonghwa was just my physician before this,” Hongjoong sniffled, stepping back after a moment to rip off his gloves and scrub at his face. 

“Yeah, okay,” Yunho scoffed, looking down at him with a playful look, watching him for any signs that he would shatter again. Hongjoong didn’t say anything, just slid his gloves back on in shaky motions. Only when he looked collected again, with a puffy face and tear stained cheeks, did Yunho speak again, “Anyways, you need to head back out there. There’s a lot of guests expecting your presence and you’re being awfully rude by crying in the kitchen rather than entertaining them.” 

\---  
Seonghwa arrived the next day into his office on time, jacket in hand and avoiding the gaze of the other castle employees feverently. He knew that acting strange was one way to convince people that something had happened, but Seonghwa couldn’t help but feel as though everyone in the castle already knew of his crimes. Seonghwa sighed, pushing the door open, dreading the sight of his empty office. When he entered, though, he was stopped abruptly by the bushel of hyacinths on his desk. These weren’t planted as most of his flower-gifts, rather freshly cut inside of a simple, yet ornate clear glass vase and the blossoms were an incredibly vibrant purple. Seonghwa entered as quietly as the ghosts of the castle did, jointing at his waist to sniff the vase of flowers. 

The card today was attached by a twine string, tied neatly, and daunting in a way none other had been.

_Please forgive me. It cannot happen again._

The ache in Seonghwa’s chest was too strong to be disappointment but too dead to be sadness. He felt sorrowful at that moment, more grief collecting in the hollows of his ribcage than he had ever felt standing in a graveyard. Typically Hongjoong’s handwriting was swift and neat, beautiful and flawless as though he didn’t have to pause for the poetry to flow through his fingers. This note, however, was rushed, the letters slightly scratching and hesitation on every syllable. 

There was a bittersweet sorrow filling his lungs that was scented like hyacinth blooms as he realized Hongjoong had wanted the same future that he had. 

Seonghwa had expected to not see Hongjoong for a while after receiving the note, figuring the Prince would want to stay away and let whatever awkward or painful air had settled dissipate first. Instead, Hongjoong appeared in his office at lunch time, smiling shyly and carrying a plate of sandwiches in his pretty hands. The sandwiches were shaped like simple fish and something about it was so endearing that Seonghwa almost had forgotten about the previous night. 

“May I come in or are you busy, Doctor?” Hongjoong’s voice was slightly raspy from the socializing the night before and he wore sweatpants and a too-large-for-him shirt, a shy blush crossing his cheeks. He looked small and sweet as he often did when visiting Seonghwa alone. 

Seonghwa gave a soft and polite smile, waving him in and pushing his glasses up his nose. “Hongjoong,” He said kindly, before pausing and correcting himself, “Prince. I’m never too busy for you. What can I help you with?” 

“Eating these sandwiches, preferably.” Hongjoong said as he sild the plate across the desk, looking at Seonghwa through his lashes. He played with his fingers momentarily, wobbling on the sides of his feet as he pursed his lips in thought. “And you can call me Hongjoong. I thought we established that a long while ago.” 

Seonghwa chuckled and took a sandwich off of the plate, the shape perfected and _adorable_. He was wrong to assume that the air between him and Hongjoong could ever be _awkward_. Seonghwa nibbled on the sandwich while Hongjoong told him about his morning and the morning lecture Madame Choi forced on him before he had even crawled from bed about _polite hosting_. Seonghwa listened, watching the way the Prince’s mouth moved and the excited hand motions he made, despite holding his own partially eaten and mostly forgotten sandwich. 

When he finished his story he took a bite, chewing contemplatively before saying in a much quieter, much more unsure tone that wavered with hesitation and regret equally, “It can’t happen again.” 

“It can’t happen again. I can’t promise that I will forget about it,” Seonghwa didn’t know why he felt as though he should add the second thought, but Hongjoong looked at him as Seonghwa could imagine a starved man would have at a banquet. Hongjoong looked like he was contemplating crawling across the desk and ignoring every warning he had been given. Hongjoong looked like he was contemplating if the consequences were truly severe enough to stop him. Seonghwa couldn’t let that happen, no matter how much he wanted. Seonghwa swallowed and continued, heart in his throat as he repeated again, “But it can’t happen again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh i hope you enjoyed!! :D i’m genuinely loving this story so much and i really hope you guys are too ^.^


	6. in the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I look at you now and I want this forever. I might not deserve it, but there’s nothing better. Don’t know how I ever did it all without you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasn’t going to upload so soon but ateez mama......i’m just so proud of my babies. also let’s talk about how seonghwa’s mama outfit was something straight out of my dreams because.....wow. literally one of his best styles ever.  
> anyways!!  
> [Paris in the Rain](https://open.spotify.com/track/41CgzGD7xlgnJe14R4cqkL?si=fjnaoxUdQMWExvPNO0knbw) by Lauv

It happened again. Again and again and again _and again_. Seonghwa found it happened more often now than it _didn’t_.

The first time they had slipped up after their agreement   
was when Hongjoong had called him into his quarters a week after their office lunch. It was to once again assist him in ridding himself of muscle aches, complaining of the pain that he was unable to soothe on his own. He hadn’t been lying to the Doctor, though the aching was far from physical. 

Winter was ending and the snow was melting, but the cold within Hongjoong only seemed to appear when he was without the Doctor’s company. When he discovered that the man’s presence chased away the bitter ache, he found himself summoning his presence for menial things before he left for the day. It was always before the sun completely set, the sun just kissing the tops of the trees still and lighting his room with vibrant colors. That evening, Seonghwa had entered, carrying his bag and coat, prepared to leave after, but stalled at the scene he had entered into. Hongjoong had let his silk robe slip a little further down his arms than necessary when he was sure the Doctor’s eyes were _solely_ on him and the tension was cut before it could even form properly. When their mouths met it was in a much softer, slower motion that time; the alcohol was no longer creating a panicked frenzy of lips and tongue and teeth. That time it was gentle, prying motions, with careful hands cupping soft cheeks, and deep gasps of surprise at every tilt of the head. 

Seonghwa only parted when his fingers dug into the Prince’s shoulders and found his muscles relaxed. It was teasing, his departing, a playful _The knot is gone. See you tomorrow, My Prince._

The second time it had happened was when Hongjoong cornered Seonghwa in his temporary apothecary as the new and permanent one was nearing its completion in the building stages. Hongjoong hadn’t intended on crowding the man but he had looked _beautiful_ that day in a plain long sleeved black shirt rolled to his elbows and tucked into baggy olive pants. Hongjoong had initially come to him with a question on catnip and the benefits of drinking catnip tea but had instead pressed the Doctor into the shelf he was organizing and nipped at his lips with slightly fevered motions. Seonghwa’s hands had quickly locked in the Prince’s hair and they stayed like that for what felt like ages as Hongjoong left playful and quick kisses to the Doctor’s mouth. It made butterflies swoop in Hongjoong’s stomach as he had occasionally let a giggle slip into the others mouth. 

When Hongjoong had left it was as quickly as he had arrived with a half-formed _witch_ passed back to the stunned looking Doctor.

Several nights passed where Hongjoong would simply give him a peck on the cheek, a polite and sweet _goodnight_ tied to his lips as the Doctor would leave for the evening. It was innocent, just simple expressions of the warmth clouding Hongjoong’s chest, hoping he could let just enough escape that he wouldn’t explode containing it all.

It was all very overwhelming, but welcomed nonetheless.

Now, just over two weeks after the spring gala, Hongjoong found himself perched in Seonghwa’s lap, straddling the Doctor at his desk. His hand was knotted in the short hair at the back of his head to keep his chin tilted upwards and if he leaned back too far he could feel the desk lip press into his lower back tauntingly. Seonghwa’s hands were patiently poised at his waist, grasp tightening and fingers clenching into the soft flesh there occasionally. Hongjoong swallowed the soft sounds that would escape the Doctor’s lips when Hongjoong was a little rougher, a little more aggressive than passive. 

Hongjoong let his free hand roam across his chest, wrinkling and disheveling his neatly pressed navy blue dress shirt, and let his fingers press buttons on both cloth and patience. He shifted, moving his hips forward, pressing closer to the man, and swallowed the surprised sounds the Doctor made as he did so. It was early in the day, the sun having just risen and there was a cooling cup of tea forgotten on the desk that made Seonghwa’s tongue taste like flowers and berries and it sent the Prince into a near frenzy to savor the flavor for as long as he could. 

Kissing Seonghwa like this had become his favorite past-time, spending most of his days with chapped and bruised lips, skin tingling from gentle hands. Hongjoong itched to peel away layers of fabric and bruise more than just Seonghwa’s mouth, but every time his fingers danced too close to the edge, Seonghwa reeled him back in. 

Hongjoong had noticed the way his eyes lingered on the thin silver band he wore and part of Hongjoong wanted to remove it, tuck it under his pillow and let the man unravel him, but he knew the Doctor was far too polite for such actions. For now, Hongjoong settled for familiarizing himself with every crevice of the Doctor’s mouth and clothed body, memorizing it down to the small details so he could recreate them on canvas later. 

Hongjoong’s free hand traveled to his jaw and caressed the skin along his jawline gingerly as he gently ground his hips downwards, a motion he’d been gradually testing on the man. Seonghwa pulled away with a start, a thin string of saliva connecting their lips from Hongjoong’s adventurous tongue that he broke with a roll of his lips. Something about the sight had Hongjoong’s eyes transfixed.

“I need to attend to my tasks for the day.” Seonghwa grumbled, voice catching in his throat as his eyes attempted to focus. Seonghwa was easy to dishevel, Hongjoong was discovering, the Doctor as easily lost in his emotions as he was. It was delicious to see him so unkempt, he thought, as the Doctor typically maintained a pristine image.

“ _I_ am your task for the day.” Hongjoong countered, slipping further up his lap until their chests nearly touched and he no longer had to pry Seonghwa’s head backwards to force the man to look up, though his fingers never released their grasp on his hair regardless. Hongjoong leaned forward and kitten licked his lips and it was the final breaking point of the remainder of Seonghwa’s resolve. He wrapped his hands around the Prince’s thighs and stood quickly, the Prince gasping for shock and clinging to the Doctor’s shoulders hastily. Just as fast as he had stood, though, Seonghwa dropped the Prince on his desk haphazardly, keeping one thigh pinned to his hip with a bruising grip while the other held the Prince’s jaw in firm fingers. He wasn’t _rough_ , though there was a distinct lack of fragility within his fingers that had Hongjoong trembling. The Doctor rarely treated him with anything other than the softest hands, the change instantly noticeable and setting his skin on fire with an icy flame. Hongjoong’s hands scrambled behind himself for support as he knocked over several stacks of paper and the forgotten cup alike, all of which clattered to the floor with a distracting noise. 

“The tea,” Hongjoong murmured after attempting to wiggle from the Doctor’s stonelike grip, eyes flitting away while Seonghwa’s remained stuck to his mouth, “We need to clean up the-”

Hongjoong was muffled by Seonghwa’s tongue licking his teeth and smothering his words. Seonghwa was rarely forceful with Hongjoong, rarely ever anything but completely gentle and kind- all soft hands and honeyed words and sickeningly sweet auras. Hongjoong was learning, however, if he edged Seonghwa’s nerves just the right way, that Seonghwa would eventually become a slight bit _unhinged_. Sometimes Hongjoong wanted bruises on his thighs in the shape of Seonghwa’s fingers, a temporary trophy of a moment that should have never happened. 

Hongjoong was slipping back on the desk, body losing muscle strength as the Doctor worked him into a mindless and boneless shell of a person; he was only able to focus on the taste of tea and the smell of his garden and the way that every graze of his fingers created new nerves underneath his skin. One hand was knotted in Seonghwa’s shirt now, holding the fabric in such a tight grasp it was as though he would fall into the abyss without this single grounding tool. He was keening quietly at random intervals, he knew he was, but he couldn’t find the ability to stop himself. A part of him felt as though he were falling apart as he clung to the Doctor and it only grew worse when Seonghwa’s fingers dipped beneath the loose fabric of his blouse and ghosted over the skin next to his bellybutton.

His abdomen twitched in reflex to the softest tickle of a touch from careful fingertips and he let out a squeaky noise at the sensation, one that escaped through his nose. Seonghwa seemed almost unsure, as though he were waiting for Hongjoong to push him away, to deny him the privilege. The Prince did the exact opposite, however, having no intentions on ending the atmosphere they had encapsulated themselves in. He gripped his shirt tighter and pulled their hips flush and Seonghwa _finally_ caved, body melting against the Prince’s completely and mouth moving feverishly once again as he explored delicate skin.

His fingers pressed into the soft flesh of the Prince’s abdomen and waist, pressing through the thin layer of fat to the toned muscle beneath and danced across his navel and the small trail of hair there. Hongjoong shivered every time he touched an unexplored part, trembling and squirming when he hit somewhere a little more sensitive. 

Then, Seonghwa’s fingers travelled the curve of his ribcage and the dip of his waistline and the valley of his hipbones. At some point their mouths had parted and his plush lips made quick work of his cheeks and neck, making the Prince’s head spin as he attempted to focus on every sensation he was feeling. Seonghwa’s mouth was _hot_ , lips wet and teeth blunt as they pressed into tender flesh with enough force to have him squeezing his eyes shut and panting. He trailed the entire expanse of his abdomen, leaving Hongjoong a whimpering mess beneath his mouth at the foreign sensation of strange fingers touching sensitive skin. It was overwhelming and exhilarating, Hongjoong thought.

It was when Seonghwa gripped his waist in a firm hand, holding him in place as he leered further over the Prince, that his mouth found his once again. He was attempting to go deeper as though he were going to swallow him entirely, as though the sounds and breaths weren’t enough to satiate him. Seonghwa’s hips were pressed flushed with Hongjoong’s still awkwardly parted ones and he could _feel_ the Doctor growing hard. Being able to _feel_ how this affected the Doctor was a whole new layer of arousal he hadn’t expected and it nearly had him preening under the man’s intense grasp, eyelashes damp.

The two were so enveloped in one another that when the door opened, neither noticed until a familiar voice shrilled, “Holy fuck, you two.”

Seonghwa leaped back as though he had been burned by Hongjoong’s silver ring and perhaps he _had_ been. Still, the Doctor looked blank as he fixed his clothing with a tight and bruised mouth. Hongjoong’s head lolled to the side to see the peach haired guard standing in the doorway with a bemused expression on his face. Yunho’s cheeks were flushed softly, eyes wide as he gaped at the two.

“Yunho,” Hongjoong muttered, disappointed at the sudden chill that overcame his body at the lack of Seonghwa’s overbearing presence. “What are you doing here?” 

“I came to find you for your afternoon lessons,” He wheezed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Hongjoong couldn’t tell if he was attempting to scrub the image from his mind or if he were exasperated with the Prince. He figured it could easily be both. “Madame Choi said she hadn’t seen you yet so she sent me to find you.”

Hongjoong giggled, almost sarcastically as he swung his feet gently. His back was curved as he grinned devilishly at Yunho and sang, “Here I am.” 

“So much for _not happening again_.” Yunho chastised, crossing his arms and glancing between the two. Hongjoong knew that Yunho had already known of the late night kisses and stolen moments. He knew the guard wasn’t unaware. He assumed it was different _knowing_ and _confirming_ , though. Despite the tone he had taken, Yunho looked nothing as he had the night of the gala, there was no underlying pity or fear, simply a questioning look that Hongjoong understood far too well.

Hongjoong looked to Seonghwa who was staring at the ground in quiet contemplation, attention completely diverted. He looked _beautiful_ standing there and looking as he did; his shirt was slightly wrinkled where Hongjoong’s fingers had been threatening to rip the fabric, his lips were dark, and he overall looked a slight bit less perfected than normal. He looked back to Yunho and shrugged with a grin, “It wasn’t quite as public this time, if that helps at all.” 

Yunho simply shook his head and turned on his heel, walking out the way he had arrived. 

\---  
Hongjoong was distracted during his lessons for the day. That was to say, Hongjoong was a blank slate as he sat statue still in his seat in the study, thinking about the taste of Seonghwa’s lips and the feeling of his fingers on intimate skin. The morning had been burned into his mind, the memory already too distant for his liking. Despite the time in between then and now, Hongjoong swore he could still feel the Doctor’s grip on him, the ghost of a moment that died not long ago. He hadn’t expected for it to be a lingering sensation, one he couldn’t chase away. It was entirely _too_ distracting and mildly overwhelming. Madame Choi had already drug him back to earth by the anchor tied to his ankle multiple times and by the last time she seemed to have had _enough_.

“ _Hongjoong_ ,” She snapped, smacking him in the back of the head with her flimsy notebook. Hongjoong jumped in his seat and out of his skin, a cry escaping his lips before he could stop it, as he was jarred from his thoughts. “What has made you so distracted today?” 

Hongjoong gathered his wits quickly, playing with his fingers as he offered a sheepish look to the woman as she rounded to his front again. “Pardon, Madame,” He apologized sincerely, feeling genuinely guilty for the spaciness and wasting her time. He knew Madame Choi’s assistance was gracious, not everyone having the luxury of someone giving them everything they needed to succeed. “I’ve just been thinking a lot.”

“Hongjoong,” She said slowly after studying him for a moment, crossing her arms causing creasing in the green velvet of the blazer she wore. Hongjoong wasn’t sure why the folding of the fabric distracted him, but it rounded his mind back to the state of Seonghwa’s shirt when he had left his office and he had to blink away the thoughts rapidly. “Is Doctor Park your partner?” 

Hongjoong choked on his spit, coughing into his fist at the startling statement. Heat rushed to his face as he shook his head in quick movements, hoping to shed the sudden accusations. “No,” He said, then repeated the word about five times as though it were the only thing he knew, “No, he’s just my physician.”

“You two spend an awful lot of time together for him to be _just_ your _physician_.” She said with a cocked brow and skeptical tone. Madame Choi wasn’t ignorant of the things Hongjoong did, no matter how much space she allowed him to take. Hongjoong _knew_ this, but he had hoped that she would simply ignore the problem as Yunho had. Perhaps it was getting bigger, Hongjoong thought, and the problem was no longer a miniscule crush that had him singing in the garden. When she continued, her voice was softer, but just as stern with eyes that weren’t cold, “You know that you can’t-”

“I know,” Hongjoong interrupted, sighing as he deflated into his chair, slumping against the backrest. For once, it wasn’t an immature movement, rather a _tired_ one and he avoided Madame Choi’s gaze as she seemed to be struggling to hold onto the stoney exterior she had built. She cared for the Prince and Hongjoong knew that- she wanted him to be happy as much as Yunho had. The whole situation was just messier than Hongjoong had ever predicted it would be, because when he was around Seonghwa it didn’t _feel_ messy or complicated- it felt _natural_. He sighed again. “I know. That is why the Doctor is nothing more than that- my Doctor. I know that in the future I will be expected to take the crown and carry the lineage and I _know_.”

When Hongjoong finally looked up, Madame Choi was staring down at him with something that made Hongjoong feel _sad_. It was almost sympathy or perhaps it was _pity_ , but either way it made Hongjoong’s chest ache. He didn’t know how long he could hold onto her gaze if the topic continued. “Hongjoong-” 

Hongjoong was quick to speak, not wanting to hear whatever tone accompanied the expression she wore. He knew he wouldn’t be able to control his emotions if he heard it, knew that it would be the finally crack in his mosaic. “I’m just thinking of officially asking him to be my advisor, is all. He’s been doing wonderfully in the position. I think he would exceed expectations if put into it officially.” 

Madame Choi took a second before she seemed to understand Hongjoong wasn’t going to speak further on the matter. “Well,” She said finally, straightening her back and crooking her eyebrow, “Hopefully as your advisor he is smarter and doesn’t leave more lovebites.”

—-  
Seonghwa knocked twice on the decorated wooden door before entering wordlessly. He was mildly surprised to find the room seemingly empty, everything quiet and the air settled. Seonghwa glanced back to where Yunho had disappeared from the hallway to wait at the base of the stairs as he did every time Seonghwa visited. He reminded himself to get the guard a _thank you_ present for dealing with their routine. Still, if the guard was there then certainly Hongjoong was in the room as well and if he hadn’t been, Yunho definitely would have said something.

“Hongjoong?” He called out finally, entering the room and closing the door behind him with a muffled noise, almost as if he were afraid to be too loud and disturb _something_. It was only once the room was sealed again that he could hear the shower in the bathroom and understood that the Prince was _there_ , just preoccupied. He moved to the bathroom door to knock and alert the Prince of his presence, only to stop short at the choked noises just barely audible above the sound of the running water. Seonghwa wanted to back away, wanted to sit on the bench outside of the room and wait as though he hadn’t heard anything. He was rooted in place, though, listening to the soft noises the Prince was clearly not trying to hide. 

A shrill keen from behind the door brought Seonghwa back to his senses and he flew back from the door as though it had grown a mouth full of teeth and stumbled to Hongjoong’s couch. He sat there and waited until the Prince finished his shower, attempting to collect the pieces of himself he had dropped in his haste.

It took only a few minutes for the shower to turn off and only a few more before the Prince emerged surrounded in steam and swaddled in a fluffy flower petal pink robe. He was slightly flushed with the heat of the room and looked as though he were ready for a nap. “Oh, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong said as he noticed the man, hair towel dried and ruffled, “I didn’t see you there. When did you get in?” 

Seonghwa was certain his face gave away his emotions- he was positive that his skin was glowing peach under the lighting and that he looked as though he were caught stealing artifacts. He cleared his throat and tried to speak normally, though his normal control on himself was slipping only slightly as he stuttered out, “A few minutes ago.”

“Seonghwa, are you okay?” Hongjoong looked apprehensive, a mild gleam of worry beginning to root in his expression. Seonghwa nearly cursed at distressing the Prince, watching as he began to meander over, feet making a soft padding noise as he grew only a bit closer. His face was scrunching as he was analyzing the moment, figuring out where all the scattered pieces fit. “You’re sounding odd. Is something wrong- _oh._.”

“ _Oh_?” Seonghwa repeated, voice pitchy as he stood up and made a waving gesture, “What do you mean _oh_?”

“You _heard_.” Hongjoong said with disbelief rather than embarrassment as Seonghwa had expected. The Prince crossed his arms defiantly, tilting his nose to the air as Seonghwa gaped, unsure of how to handle the situation he had wandered into. “It’s your fault. You left a hickey.”

It was as if he were a marionette whos strings had been cut, all the tension immediately leaving his body with a gasp. Seonghwa dropped his face into his hands as his knees buckled and he collapsed back into the chair. His voice strained with incredulity in himself and the situation, throat dry and body completely boneless as he attempted to find the strength to collect himself again. When he spoke again, he sounded far more distressed than he intended, “I did _what_.”

Hongjoong laughed, wind chime-y and far too bright for Seonghwa’s dread-filled chest. Seonghwa couldn’t understand how the Prince was so carefree at the admission, meanwhile Seonghwa’s entire being was shattered with the attempt to process his crime. Hongjoong finished the journey over, dropping into the chair next to the couch. “Yeah,” He said, far too casually, leaning his chin onto his palms as he propped his elbows on his knees, “Madame Choi pointed them out.”

Seonghwa’s head lifted so fast he thought he would break his own neck, eyes bulging as Hongjoong simply continued to smile. Seonghwa could feel the phantom sensation of a rope being tied around his neck, the trial skipped as everyone knew he was _guilty_. “She _what_?” He squeaked before groaning and falling backwards, finally unable to convince his body to maintain some form of respectable nature. “I feel faint. I will be dead by morning for certain.”

Hongjoong laughed and waved his hand dismissively, undoubtedly admiring the show the Doctor was presenting. “You will not.”

“I _will_ ,” Seonghwa insisted, “I have been defiling the Prince. I will be dead or locked away and _then_ dead.” 

“You will not!” Hongjoong said, still giggling, “Madame Choi doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed relieved when I told her I was hoping you would accept being my permanent advisor.” 

There was a pause, one that let Hongjoong’s words settle like a soothing incense and assisted in reigning his roaring mind back. Seonghwa straightened up after steadying his worried breathing, the bones returning to his body as the mortification was slowly sucked from his system. When he looked to Hongjoong again, he blinked at the rather _cute_ sight of the Prince as he tongued at the words he had spoken. “Are you still offering me the position?”

“Are you still considering it?” Hongjoong asked, smiling a little more shyly now as he fiddled with the sleeves of his robe. “I don’t mind waiting longer for an answer. I just hope to get one soon.” 

“May I be on a trial period?” Seonghwa asked after a brief second that Seonghwa passed watching the Prince’s pretty fingers nimbly play with the fabric. When he spoke, the Prince looked up at him through wet eyelashes, his hair occasionally collecting a stray drop or two that wet the fabric of the chair in a manner that Seonghwa would have chastised him in any other setting. “I would like to be able to work in my apothecary still.”

Hongjoong nodded quickly, smiling as brightly as the moon as his nose and eyes creased. He took Seonghwa’s hand from the armrest to hold it with excitement, fingers gently pressing into the tendons of the back of his hand soothingly. His skin was slightly damp and still warm from the shower, soft in Seonghwa’s, and the Doctor felt himself admiring the feeling as his heart rate increased. “Of course, of course!” Hongjoong insisted quickly, “I would never take that from you! Feel free to work in your apothecary and in your office as much as you want when you are not immediately needed. I know where to find you whenever I need your assistance.”

“My Prince,” Seonghwa laughed slightly, allowing his own fingers to wrap around the Prince’s and hold them against his palm. He wasn’t sure why the realization of just how slender the Prince’s hands were made him smile, but the feeling that it left made him feel airy and light. “You needn’t look for _me_. It would be my job to look for _you_.”

“Seonghwa, I fear that it doesn’t matter what your _job_ is.” Hongjoong’s voice was slightly deeper now, less bold as he spoke the words in a voice as steady as the willows by the river, “When we are apart, it seems that I am always searching for you as it is. It would be no different _then_ as it is _now_.” 

Seonghwa felt as though he had swallowed his tongue, his mouth suddenly full of cotton and unable to form a complete sentence; he felt like a stuffed bear, one that spoke when the stomach was pressed and knew only what was programmed. He felt like he could’ve sat there for years, being just a small presence in the Prince’s life and would have been _content_ with such a life. It took him a moment of just marvelling at the Prince before he was finally able to speak again, “My Prince, you put me up so high in the sky that I just may never come down.” 

“Then one day my heavy wings will lighten enough that I will be able to fly to you and meet you there.” Hongjoong’s voice held such a sincerity that it knocked the air from Seonghwa’s chest, that heavy feeling returning to his body. He licked his teeth, attempting to gather himself once again, though there was a distinct lack of control that he couldn’t seem to break through. It took him a long moment of his bobbing throat and flittering eyes to be able to regain his sense of self and even then he was only grounded by the Prince’s grasp on his hand.

Hongjoong’s hand was still soft and warm in his grip and Seonghwa wondered if he could feel the slight tremble in his fingers and the stutter of his heartbeat. “Alright, Icarus,” Seonghwa attempted to lighten the mood, to break the tension, “Put away the wax and feathers.” 

“No,” Hongjoong said softly, tone so serene it made Seonghwa nearly doughy, his mind slushy as he attempted to understand just how enamored he was with the small royal. “Icarus was _right_. I’m headed for the sun and I can’t find myself regretting it. As long as I crash under your heat, under your brilliance, I can only think of everything as worth it.”

The words Hongjoong spoke settled in the air like a heavy fog, the confession settling heavily between the two. Seonghwa wasn’t able to speak, his lungs having failed and his mind rotating around nothing more than the shape of Hongjoong’s lips. Seonghwa thought that the scent of strawberries and cream was a powerful drug, hindering his mind and reasoning capabilities. His tongue felt heavy, as though it were not his own, and his body was buzzing in the same way he imagined a hummingbird's wings to flap. He was out of control of his own existence, merely engulfed in everything that was _Hongjoong_. The Prince had him wrapped around his fingers like a dangling marionette, yet the heir barely seemed to acknowledge it. 

“You,” Seonghwa said finally, hoping his own voice carried the sincerity he felt and that it wasn’t veil-thin, “Will be the death of me. I will die early, I will die young, and I will wait for you beneath the roots of the flowers and trees. I will wait for eternity under the soil for you to join me, if it means that in one life I get to fall in love with you.”

“Why only one?” Hongjoong asked, eyes carrying more stars than the sky and Seonghwa wondered how the universe managed to seem so small compared to the Prince sitting in front of him. How was everything else in this broad expanse of infinity, so miniscule compared to him? “Why can’t we have _every_ life?”

\---  
The city was crowded, people bumping into each other as they bustled from one destination to another like milling ants. Seonghwa had always disliked roaming the city as he found himself being brushed by far too many dismissive strangers for his comfort. Today was different, though, the crowd parting easily for the group to pass through, Mingi and Yunho leading as they walked through the city like two looming stone pieces. It was fascinating to Seonghwa how the crowd seemed to part without thinking, as though Hongjoong carried a natural repellent. Some stopped to give a curt bow, while others simply ogled the Prince and his company. 

Seonghwa wasn’t sure if he preferred the impolite ignorance of his personal space or the bulging eyes watching his every movement. 

Hongjoong didn’t seem to notice, talking excitedly about the shop they were visiting, eyes bright and tone cheery. Hongjoong was dressed casually today, the weather sunny but air chilled, wrapped in a black leather jacket and pastel blue turtleneck tucked into black jeans and boots. Seonghwa’s personal favorite detail was the black beanie tucked over his hair but under his ears, leaving them slightly folded and heart shaped jewelry assortment exposed. It was sweet, Seonghwa thought, the way he looked like an imp today with his sharp, pretty features kissed by an early spring blush. 

Seonghwa hadn’t noticed that Yunho and Mingi had stopped walking, bumping into the latter’s back as he was distracted. He quickly apologized to the blonde guard, smiling sheepishly as he took a step back. Mingi looked down at him with a rather flat expression, though his eyes glittered and a simple nod gave away his forgiveness. Seonghwa understood that while out in the city, Yunho and Mingi weren’t allowed to look soft, weren’t allowed to show any sign of weakness- they were there only to protect the two. Hongjoong was grinning at him, teeth exposed and eyes creased, gesturing to the store they were in front of. The building was short and square, made of sandy colored bricks with huge window displays of glittering gems and rocks, the pale sunlight making everything glow with shades of the rainbow. Hongjoong was beaming as bright as any of the displays, perhaps brighter, when he turned to Seonghwa with creased eyes, “We’re here!” 

It was a rock store, Hongjoong explained as they entered, despite the fact that Seonghwa could have gathered that information on his own. Glass shelves lined with gems and agates and stones and crystals of all colors greeted him upon entry. The room was large and open and square, the cashier stand by the entry and the rest of the room filled with open shelf drawers and displays of _rocks_. Seonghwa wasn’t sure what the appeal of such a store was and _why_ he would be interested in glittery _rocks_ , but Hongjoong was excited, so he kept the thoughts to himself.

Hongjoong seemed positively radiant in the store, excited to look around the shining and dull and boxed and carved rocks. Seonghwa trailed behind him, watching as he admired the stones and described each one with rapt attention. He explained to Seonghwa the benefits of some stones, the meanings behind them, what their uses in history were- he described everything that came to his mind and Seonghwa attempted to absorb everything. He enjoyed listening to the Prince sound so excited, even though he was struggling to keep up with all the new information all at once. He wondered if this was how Hongjoong felt when he began discussing his plants and the thought made something fuzzy bubble in his chest.

At the back of the store there was a case with handmade jewelry, small statues, and art pieces, Hongjoong immediately gravitating towards it. His eyes were flitting between all the pieces as Seonghwa took his time admiring each carefully created art piece. He was certain Hongjoong had seen these before, but he seemed so _adoring_ of the pieces, Seonghwa wanted to take his time to find the joy that Hongjoong did within them as well. “Seonghwa, look at these!”

Seonghwa felt a nervous jolt run through his fingertips as he wrapped his fingers around one another to keep them to himself. The desire to hold the Prince trickled through his veins and he had to brace himself with the knowledge that they were once again in _public_ and it was inappropriate. He looked over the case, studying the pieces inside, before his eyes caught on a handflower style bracelet; the metal was silver and a draping vine pattern where it would lay over the back of the hand, the ring a curving vine-like pattern as well as the bracelet, with opals set in a straight line down the ring and branching out onto the bracelet in a clustered pattern. It was beautiful and Seonghwa’s gaze lingered on it long enough for Hongjoong to notice. 

Hongjoong disappeared from the Doctor’s side, stirring him from his thoughts as he turned to follow, only to see him beckoning the cashier over. It seemed as though Hongjoong and the man were familiar with each other, the two talking animatedly as they returned. He was a middle aged man with tan skin and smile lines creasing his features, dark hair peppered and perfectly styled. “A lovely piece you’re admiring,” He said as he worked on unlocking and opening the case, “A personal favorite. I created something similar for my wife when we got married.” 

Seonghwa was once again unable to talk, simply nodding dumbly as the man retrieved the piece and closed the black velvet box it came in. Hongjoong was beaming when he took it, opening the box immediately, “Seonghwa, give me your hand.”

When Seonghwa didn’t move, the Prince gripped his wrist in a feather light grip and brought him closer to the stand. He set the long middle of the piece on his palm, gently sliding the ring onto his middle finger and cooing when the size was _perfect_. “No adjustment will be needed, it seems!” He said to the store clerk, looking enamored with the jewelry, “It fits him perfectly. It’s like it was made for him.” 

Hongjoong shoved the sleeve of his thick knitted sweater up and clasped it around Seonghwa’s thin wrist, gently holding his hand and admiring the way it looked against his skin and the shape of his knuckles. Seonghwa was staring at the top of his head, unable to fully process the moment they were in and the implications it carried. Hongjoong looked up after a moment, eyes gleaming with something Seonghwa wasn’t prepared to address- not in the store, not in the city, not in company. “Do you like it?” 

Seonghwa didn’t even glance to the piece, nodding numbly as his attention was solely focused on the Prince who continued to smile up at him. “Yeah,” He croaked, “I like it.”

Yunho and Mingi noticed the jewelry immediately, though Mingi was less interested than Yunho, who gave Seonghwa a curious look. Seonghwa simply tucked his hand behind his thigh. The other unknown faces in the crowd, however, barely hid their interest in the new man accompanying the Prince. Seonghwa could feel their eyes burning with curiosity and it made him look to Mingi’s back as they walked, the Prince having settled between the two guards. 

Yunho fell back a step to fall in line with Seonghwa, bumping him with his shoulder gently when the Doctor did not look up at him. “There are an awful lot of rumors about you two already.”

“Oh?” Seonghwa asked, looking up at Yunho. Yunho merely crooked an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his mouth. Seonghwa didn’t press for more information. “People do love to gossip.”

\---  
Seonghwa looked good here, Hongjoong thought, sprawled out and flushed on his throne. Hongjoong had led him here for distinctly different reasons, but now he couldn’t think of anything more important than observing the man as he was. 

Seonghwa glared up at him through messy bangs, looking as though he wanted to adjust himself from where Hongjoong had roughly shoved him down, but he did not. Hongjoong followed shortly, knee resting between the man’s thighs and hands gripping his shoulders quickly.

When Seonghwa’s hands settled on his waist he could feel the heavy handflower bracelet he had bought for him three days prior and the thought of him wearing it made him shiver. It felt like a _mark_ , a sign of claimation. A quiet, but bold statement that Seonghwa wasn’t available. Perhaps it was _too_ bold, but Hongjoong was finding himself desperate to keep the man wrapped around him. After Madame Choi had pieced the final parts together, he had ceased his attempts at reigning himself in. He figured the townsfolk were already gossiping and all the castle staff already knew of Seonghwa’s late night visits; there was no sense in hiding the fact that he was enthralled with the man’s presence. He was _tired_ of letting _this_ be more complicated than it was. His feelings were simple, easy to understand and direct; everything else was external forces coercing him into their opinions on what’s _proper_. He didn’t want to live like that, not when the Doctor was so lax beneath him, pliable under his fingers, and so _stern_ looking.

Seonghwa’s fingers dug into his waist, pressing through the material of his long sleeved tee shirt, the feeling of the jewelry both grounding and arousing. Seonghwa’s lips looked warm and wet, his tongue darting out occasionally to brush them softly. Hongjoong followed the movements closely, watching intently as he did so. Once again he found himself absorbed with everything about the Doctor. When Hongjoong finally felt the cord of tension break, he sunk into the Doctor’s mouth, lips brushing softly but fervently, as though they had eternity but couldn’t waste a second. 

Seonghwa always held him so carefully, _kissed_ him so carefully, he almost felt as though he were made of something precious and fragile. Hongjoong knew there were times where Seonghwa was afraid to push, afraid to damage something, afraid to ruin everything. He wanted to take that insecurity, that worry, and bury it deep in the earth. He knew a part of it came from the fact that he had confided in the Doctor with many of his insecurities and flaws and where he felt his shortcomings lie. He knew the Doctor just wished to treat him with the gentle hands he deserved.

He climbed fully into Seonghwa’s lap, one knee between his thighs and the other tucked between the armrest and his leg. He braced himself with Seonghwa’s shoulder and curled his other hand through the ornate carving of his throne back. Hongjoong used the leverage to lick the roof of his mouth and nibble at his lips, swallowing the sounds the Doctor gave in response.. Seonghwa was melting rapidly beneath his lips, the Prince having caught onto the act of kissing quickly and efficiently. 

Carefully, Seonghwa pried his mouth away from Hongjoong with soundless pecks. The Prince almost ignored his separation, but gave in at his insistence, thinking there must have been a reason for his hesitation. Hongjoong gave him a final soft kitten lick before allowing them to break, dropping his forehead against the Doctor’s instead. 

“This cannot go anywhere, My Prince,” Seonghwa breathed against his mouth after a moment of eyeing him as though he were hoping to swallow him whole; he was unable to part from the Prince despite his words, hands still grasping his waist in a shackle-like manner. “I truly need to keep you pure for your future spouse. I’m already breaking so many rules.”

Hongjoong chuckled breathlessly against his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth before he could retreat. “What is the point in purity if I find no value in it?”

“What if your partner values it?” Seonghwa licked his lips and Hongjoong nearly groaned with the desire to taste his tongue again. “What if you decide you value it in the future?”

“Right now I value your taste. The rest is decidedly pointless.” Hongjoong watched his eyelashes flutter and his resolve cracking as it often did with enough prodding. His fingers were digging into Hongjoong’s hips more tightly and the Prince arched towards him slightly in response. 

“You are insatiable, My Prince.” His voice was thin as though it were nothing more than a cloud of smoke and Hongjoong wished to find the source of the fire.

“You say that now, Doctor,” Hongjoong pressed another wet kiss to the opposite corner of his lips, before leaning in and speaking against his ear, “But wait until I’ve tasted you in every room of this palace. And after that, you’ll see how I’ll ask to do it all again. You’ll know _insatiable_ , Doctor.”

Seonghwa’s head tilted back as Hongjoong’s mouth pressed against the tender flesh of his neck, giving him the accessibility he craved despite the last bit of his self-restraint chaining him down. Hongjoong hoped to break that soon, hoped the man would shed the worry. “You would keep me for so long? Even as you found a wife? Would you keep me as a consort to simply flirt with and fuck, only to crawl into bed with her after?”

Hongjoong stalled, brain whirring for a moment. That had been the first time either of them had verbally addressed not only where they wished their relationship to head, though also the one thing holding him back. The words hung heavy in the air and in his mind and he felt a sad ache blossom where his heart should have been. Hongjoong shook his head, lips frozen as he spoke honestly, “I could never do that to you, Seonghwa.”

“I’d let you, though.” Hongjoong pulled back then, the earnest and almost desperate tone in his voice alarming. Seonghwa was blushing, though Hongjoong couldn't’ tell if it was from arousal or shame, and his eyes were glossy and carried a constellations worth of stars. When Seonghwa spoke, his voice was quiet but steady and confident in his words. “I’d let you hold me on a leash just long enough to keep me out of her eyesight, but short enough to drag me to you whenever needed. I’d stay- I’d let you have that- I’d let you have _me_ , unconditionally. I’m willing to be the secret in the dark corner of your room or as the only notch on your bedpost, if that is what you wished. To be honest, Your Highness, I don’t think there is anything you could ask of me that I would not do.”

Hongjoong swallowed the glass in his throat and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. The kiss was plain, though painful in the end as he withdrew to squeeze his eyes shut, hands sliding to cup Seonghwa’s jawline. “Quit imagining a future for me that I do not want.” His words were careful and mumbled, silent even in the echo chamber of a room they were in. His thumbs traced soft tracks from the corners of Seonghwa’s plush lips to his jaw as Hongjoong dropped his forehead against the Doctor’s. “Everyone around me creates a future for me that I do not want.”

“Then what do you want?” Seonghwa exhaled and Hongjoong found himself feeling lost in the scent of tea and earth again. “Tell me what you want, so I can give it to you.”

“I want _you_.” Hongjoong trailed his fingertips across Seonghwa’s lips, feeling the rose petal texture beneath the pads of his fingers. Seonghwa’s eyes were glossy, dazed, almost as though he were staring at something spiritual to be worshipped. It was the first time Hongjoong had directly admitted to his desires of not just stolen and heated kisses, but the potential future where the two were a _set_. Hongjoong wanted the garden and the cat and the morning cuddles and the bickering- but he wanted it all on the condition it was with _Seonghwa_. “I want you.”

Seonghwa swallowed his mouth again, lips moving just as carefully as before but much more incessant, as though he were finally able to have a minute portion of everything he was begging for but too afraid to take. It was an overwhelming sensation, the way he moved and held him, the way that Seonghwa barely withdrew to change the angles and how his tongue only _teased_. It was slow but heavy and it made Hongjoong feel as though he were floating on the clouds surrounded by stained glass windows and a throne he would never grow into.

Hongjoong broke the kiss first, prying away with lingering kisses. He slid from Seonghwa’s lap to his feet, looking down at the Doctor from where he stood. Seonghwa looked disheveled from the angle, flushed and glassy and entirely wrapped around the Prince’s fingers. 

Seonghwa watched with startled eyes as Hongjoong slowly kneeled in front of him, hands landing on his knees and prying them open gently. Hongjoong was certain he looked as though he were praying and in some ways he _was_. Seonghwa felt religious to him, spiritual on a plane he had never existed on prior. He felt reverent while looking at the Doctor- he felt as though he were bathed in something holy, surrounded by everything that soothed his soul. He kissed the doctor’s inner knee gently and listened to the way that he gasped quietly. Hongjoong made eye contact again, lashes parting to see the wet look of Seonghwa’s eyes, to study the way he looked at him as though his entire world had been handed to him.

“Now let me taste you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is up to where i have pre-written and edited so bear with me🥴  
> <3<3<3


	7. Echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I wanna feel you swimming in my veins. I wanna hear you calling out my name. Every time I try to let go, you keep coming back like an echo._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so......i was editing chapter seven and i was like "omg why is this taking so long" only to find out it was 27k unedited AND having removed two scenes. so. i decided to split it in half. the second half will be coming within the next day or so! :D 
> 
> for now here's three things to note:  
> 1\. i think the rating is changing with the next chapter officially because it's kind of....a lot more than i intended it to be lmao so when i post the next chapter, expect a rating change!!  
> 2\. the A/N at the end is not necessarily ~important~ but i would love some feedback<3  
> as always, enjoy!!  
> 3\. Echo is the song that helped me pick a name for this story!! if you didn't realize i took inspiration for the title via the meaning of hongjoong's name, seonghwa's name, and this song!
> 
> [Echo](https://open.spotify.com/track/6dRGcBzpyU8JHt0SPV0emW?si=lP8ecmndSwiSD--qdt5o2A)  
> -Dark Waves

By the time spring was in full bloom and the cherry blossoms snowed in the garden, Hongjoong was unable to remove the taste of Seonghwa from his tongue like a memory scorched by fire. After the first time in the throne room only several weeks earlier, it had become a slight bit of an addiction to Hongjoong, something he began to crave in the darker hours of the day. The Doctor was always so schooled and proper, never out of place and always so polite- always so damn _neat and tidy_. He found it delicious how the man would melt, boneless and malleable, in his hands and mouth. The images of him biting his lips, mouthing curses, clenching whatever he could to try and ground himself as he was buried against his tongue were all burned into Hongjoong’s mind so clearly he could draw them. His fingers itched to memorialize such a sight, _such an addictive sight_ , so he could never properly forget it.

So Hongjoong _did_.

The sketches on the loose parchment were sharp and jagged, almost fuzzy as though they truly were being looked at through the lenses of a memory- lacking detail and all bold lines. 

One was of the throne room; the stained glass windows hardly the most impressive part of the drawing as he had attempted to capture the way Seonghwa was truly reverent while poised on a throne. Seonghwa was draped there, all long limbs and breathless, arms outstretched to either side with his legs parted and elongated. It was a sinful sight, all sexy silhouettes and implications.

The second was the time Hongjoong had cornered him under the cherry blossom tree before it had begun to shed it’s springtime snow. The sharp curve of Seonghwa’s elbow was above his head as he had grasped at the bark behind him with one hand and used his free one to plead with Hongjoong in desperate motions. Hongjoong swore he could still taste that day, the scent of the blossoms filling his nose and the taste of his soap from his morning shower. It was amazing what memories a visual cue could render.

The final sketch was of the most recent incident when Hongjoong had crawled beneath his desk as he worked with a sly smile and the Doctor’s warning’s lost on his ears. Yunho had walked into the room with what was an initially pleasant ignorance asking about the Prince’s whereabouts and where he had disappeared to. He was met with Seonghwa’s pathetically pleading eyes, voice croaking through unstable lips as he had shaken his head frantically. Yunho had left the office with a curse when the realization had hit him, the door slamming behind him as though he could erase the scene if he locked it far behind him. When Hongjoong had emerged from the room, looking far too red and dazed, neither mentioned it. The memory had made Hongjoong giggle as he had sketched it. 

Hongjoong was startled from his drawings as his bedroom door opened, the subject of his thoughts entering as though he were summoned by them. “Hongjoong,” Seonghwa said as he closed the door behind him, looking mildly pensive but carrying no air of nervousness. Hongjoong didn’t think whatever was on his mind was negative. “I think there’s something I need to talk with you about.” 

Hongjoong grinned at him, all teeth and blush, as he picked the drawings up in careful fingers, very aware of the potential of charcoal smudges. He waved the parchment in the air, the soft noise it made dissipating the cautious look Seonghwa had worn when he entered. “First let me show you my latest projects.”

Seonghwa swallowed his words, nodding eagerly. The man was always interested in Hongjoong’s work, excitedly admiring every piece he created with nothing but pride and love clinging to his every expression. Hongjoong hoped he would appreciate these as much as he did the others, a slight nervousness filling the Prince’s chest. He wondered for a second if Seonghwa would be embarrassed or think that this was inappropriate, the concern of unintentionally offending him began to creep into his thoughts. Seonghwa’s soft smile was reassuring, though, excited to see his work- Hongjoong figured that if he hated it, Seonghwa could never speak ill towards him. He knew he was safe with the Doctor. “Of course, My Prince.”

Hongjoong scurried over to where Seonghwa was loitering by the couch before he could regret or overthink his decision, knowing that if he lingered for too long then he would soon decide against it. He handed Seonghwa the drawings with hands more stable than he felt, praying the glass cage he resided in was opaque enough to shield the sudden burst of apprehension that overcame him. Hongjoong settled himself down politely on the seat and crossed his legs to busy himself and hopefully give himself an air of confidence that he did not feel. He watched Seonghwa’s dark eyes bulge from his head and his cheeks flush brightly, the color befitting of the spring just outside the window, glowing in a way only Seonghwa could. Hongjoong drank up the way he gasped quietly beneath his breath, the sound so airy and soft that if Hongjoong had merely shifted as he had done so, he would never have caught the sound at all. He felt drunk when he noticed the way that his fingers trembled with the fragile paper cradled beneath them, the unsteadiness barely visible but _there_. He watched the way that Seonghwa seemed rickety for a moment, eyes unfocused as though he were reliving the moment as well, his expression growing dazed. Everything about Seonghwa was noticeable in the small details- if someone were to blink they would miss everything the Doctor was telling them without ever speaking. Hongjoong _loved_ being able to study the Doctor like this, loved being able to read him and his emotions so well, specifically when he looked so spacey. 

He looked so pretty like this, Hongjoong thought as his insecurity evaporated, out of control and easy to overwhelm. 

“My Prince,” When he spoke, his voice was shaky and thin, like champagne. Hongjoong wanted to taste it on his lips again, _knowing_ that the Doctor was the most delicious when out of control. “You truly are the greatest temptor this universe has offered.” 

Hongjoong grinned wickedly and patted the sofa politely, the motion so dainty and sweet that it felt as though it didn’t belong in the moment they had created. “Come sit, Doctor.” Seonghwa swallowed heavily and set the drawings to the side on the small table by the chairs. He followed the Prince’s orders dutifully and Hongjoong felt something bubble in his chest at the thought. “What did you wish to speak about?”

Seonghwa looked as though he were tempted to leave, his defenses having been shattered as Hongjoong broken into his psyche to wreak havoc on him. He looked alarmed, but enthralled, as though he too were feeling the addiction Hongjoong was. Hongjoong placed a light hand on his knee, meant to tease him but also meant to comfort him with a familiar presence. Hongjoong felt that they balanced each other best like that: taunting and comforting. Seonghwa shifted in place, his knees bumping together where Hongjoong’s fingers didn’t cover.

“I think I have made a decision on the advisory position you previously offered me.” Hongjoong squeezed his knee with his fingers, no longer teasing but more reassuring. He hope the sincerity began to show through his expression as he let the prior mood slide off of them. Seonghwa inhaled deeply, body shuddering with the breath as he blinked to clear his mind and steel himself. “This decision has nothing to do with the new _activities_ of these past few weeks, I want that to be clear. I just think we have made a wonderful support team during this time. So, if you will still have me, I’d like to accept.”

Hongjoong squeaked in joy, the heavy atmosphere he had created fully vanishing as he launched himself haphazardly and awkwardly at the man. He collapsed into the other man with a grunt, the two of them becoming a mess of limbs quickly as Seonghwa attempted to ground the two from falling over or off the couch while _also_ trying to keep hold of his precious Prince. 

“ _Finally_ ,” Hongjoong groaned, voice muffled as his face was squished unattractively in his throat, lips dragging unattractively across his skin with wet words, “I’ve been waiting for _ages_. I thought I’d never get Madame Choi off of my back.”

Seonghwa laughed quietly, patting the Prince’s head as he relaxed into the embrace after reassuring himself that the two wouldn’t topple over into the abyss. Seonghwa continued to gently pat the Prince as he spoke, fingers sifting through his brilliant red hair reassuringly. “To be completely honest, I was concerned that I had taken too long and you would rescind the offer.” 

“No!” Hongjoong said immediately, far too loud in the nonexistent space between them. Seonghwa looked at him wide eyed and doey as he dug his chin into his chest to look up at him. “Never. Whatever you wish for, it’s yours. I will see to it that you are forever without want.” 

“The only thing I want is for you to be happy, My Prince.” Seonghwa’s voice was much quieter, though it echoed in the silence of the room, the probital nature of his words cutting straight to Hongjoong’s heart through his chest. Hongjoong felt his tongue grow stoney in his jaw, the atmosphere surrounding them a completely different kind of _heavy_ to before. This heaviness tasted like cherry wine, so deep and sweet that Hongjoong could lose himself in it easily. This kind of atmosphere chased the two often these days and Hongjoong had begun to associate it with his cravings.

“With you around, I find that it is impossible to be anything but.” There was a finality to his statement, such a truth that neither of them could part from. Hongjoong was always so vulnerable with the Doctor, trusting him with every weak spot he had to offer. The Prince pulled away, movements slow and calculated as though he were trying to wade through water without disturbing it. He looked directly into the Doctor’s eyes now, level and unbridled, seeing just how clearly _gone_ Seonghwa truly was for him. When Hongjoong spoke again, his voice was more akin to a purr than anything, rolling and steady as Seonghwa blushed once again. “Now let me celebrate. I’d like to add another drawing to my collection.”

\---  
With spring in full bloom, Hongjoong had coerced Seonghwa into taking a garden walk with him the week after he accepted his position as advisor. Seonghwa was grateful for the sunlight, even if it was bleaching and faint and did nothing to chase the dampness from the earth. It lit the dew into multicolored rainbows and made Hongjoong’s strawberry hair shimmer as though covered in fairydust. Hongjoong looked beautiful today, though Seonghwa thought that on _everyday_ no matter the outfit nor the occasion. He wore flowy white pants with a sheer, veil-like shirt tucked in, a gauzy shawl thrown over his shoulder that glimmered iridescent in the shifting light matching the makeup on his eyes and cheekbones. Hongjoong looked ethereal in the lighting, in the garden, in _that outfit_. He looked otherworldly by nature, but occasionally he truly felt as though he were something unnatural to this earth- lost from his own star, perhaps.

“You’re staring, Doctor.” Hongjoong teased, drawing him from his reverie as they passed beneath a cherry blossom tree. The petals were raining down in airlight drops, the beauty so incredible yet so quick to fade. Seonghwa thought cherry blossoms were such a pity, their beauty so finite. The pastel pink petals often reminded him of people and the way they blossomed and fell so quickly, so mortally. He had never met a person who felt infinite- at least, he hadn’t until he had met Hongjoong.

“You look beautiful,” Seonghwa said honestly, speaking his mind without concern; they were alone in the garden accompanied only by their shadows, not even the Guards trailing them. He watched a petal colored blush cover the Prince’s cheek as they exited the swaying shadow of the tree. He truly looked as though he could live amongst the beautiful blossoms of spring. “I have many reasons to stare.”

Hongjoong smiled, the expression greedy and content, like a cat who had successfully lapped the cream. “I hope they are all good.” 

“They are all only ever good, My Prince.” Seonghwa said and clasped his hands behind his back as they wandered the hedge maze. Hongjoong allowed the silence of the outdoors to overtake the conversation, allowed them to once again get lost in the feeling of spring, of new life. The tall green shrubbery of the labyrinth walls surrounded the two entirely, but Hongjoong was unconcerned and therefore Seonghwa as well felt relaxed. He admired the wild flowers blooming between the grass blades and the imperfect lengths of the bushes and the occasional mole hill or burrow to be spotted. He had the rising suspicion that the wild animals remained only because of Hongjoong’s wishes, that everything in this garden only looked slightly unkempt per the Prince’s orders. Seonghwa had a nagging dread that if the Prince was not as unorthodox as he was, that a lot of the castle would be so much less _kind_. 

Hongjoong withdrew him from his thoughts when he gestured to him to turn the corner in the hedge. He followed silently, obediently, trusting the Prince’s sense of direction in such a confusing entanglement of identical looking branches. In the new area they entered, Seonghwa found himself feeling slightly bemused by the sight he was presented. It was a large space, similar to the size of his yard at home: several large rectangular ground planters held new, healthy dirt and empty plots of freshly churned earth were clustered together on the other side and filled the air with the scent of nature. Seonghwa felt the muscles in his body relaxing automatically at the familiar smell, the sensation triggering his body’s memory of _gardening_ being _relaxing_. He blinked several times to regain his headspace and looked around further. Directly across from the entrance there was a gazebo-like building with closed walls and an intricate door. It stood as tall as the hedges with a pointed roof, a strange and ornate globe sitting on the apex of the swooping top. The walls were an off-white shade that gleamed in the wet sunlight; meanwhile the door, roof, and trim were all a dark and warm wood that looked stunning against the greenery, dirt, and sky. Seonghwa felt a little breathless staring at such a beautiful building in such a beautiful yet empty setting, looking rather lonely in the space. Combined with his awe there was confusion as to what the purpose of such a space would be, one that’s clearly been maintained well and treated with care. 

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong’s voice was saccharin and soothing, dripping down Seonghwa’s spine in honey-thick droplets. When Seonghwa met his eyes again, he was looking up at the man with a smile that tasted slightly hesitant, but fully committed. “I would like you to have a garden here. After all, if you are to run an apothecary, I would assume you need fresh ingredients and not everything can be grown indoors. I’d like you to take this space as yours and do whatever it is you please with it.” 

The world stopped turning once again as Hongjoong’s delicate fingers stopped the globe easily. There was a moment where he was _certain_ everything was frozen, drifting in space with aimlessness. Seonghwa wasn’t sure how to respond, gaping at the man with a slack-jaw and wet eyes, feeling as though cherry blossom petals would soon fall from his lips. Then he chuckled, the sound bubbling and raspy and entirely uncertain, the nerves nibbling at his throat and threatening to escape. Seonghwa’s voice wasn’t unsteady when he spoke, but it certainly wasn’t _even_ , words thick as they fell into the open air between them. “Why does it feel as though you are courting me, My Prince? All the gifts and shows of how you can provide- it feels an awful lot like courtship.” 

“And if I was?” Hongjoong asked, hopeful as he stared at him with bright eyes, expression entirely open. He looked every bit of a sunbeam in that moment, as vibrant and vivid as though he truly had shards of the stars stored within him. He was brilliant to look at, captivating and breathtaking, his words only furthering Seonghwa’s descent into the light. “Would it be working?” 

“My Prince, it is _I_ that would need to court _you_.” He replied, incredulity lacing his tone as he wondered exactly who the Prince thought Seonghwa was. Hongjoong had placed him so high in his mind that he felt as though the real version of himself was lost somewhere. He knew that wasn’t the case, that Hongjoong was enamoured with _him_ and that nothing in his mind was ever falsified- he just felt as though he wasn’t worthy of the esteem the Prince held for him. “I would need to prove my worth to _you_. You are a Prince, you need to prove nothing.” 

“I need to prove that I’m right for _you_.” Hongjoong stopped himself there, voice catching as though there were more he had wished to add. The words hung heavy in the air, the unfinished thought sticky. Though Seonghwa wasn’t positive of what the discarded thought had been, he was certain that it would have rendered him into nothing more than a blabbering fool in the middle of a labyrinth. Hongjoong pressed his lips tightly together as if holding the words behind his teeth as a makeshift jail and looked away from Seonghwa, towards the building. “I think you should look in your workspace.”

There was a pause, neither of them moving as though they had been planted in the earth as the first flowers to bloom there. Seonghwa was the first to break the moment, allowing himself to shed the curiosity of the Prince’s insistence, knowing that he had clammed up and begun pouting already and would no longer speak on the subject. 

Seonghwa approached the building cautiously as he knew the Prince would not move without him going first, the Prince trailing behind him soundlessly. When he arrived at the walkway-less door, he stared at the intricate patterns on the front; carved into the glossy and sealed wood were moonflowers, stars, and a large moon in the center of the arch of the top of the door. It reminded him so much of Hongjoong’s bedroom door, the artstyle entirely the same; he wondered if the same carver had done them both. The handle was brass and shaped like a cat, feeling chilled but otherwise perfect in his grasp. Seonghwa wondered how long the Prince had been working on the building and intended on asking such, but the question died in his throat upon entry. 

If the door was impressive, the inside was heart-shatteringly perfect. The walls were painted with pastel shades of blue and pink and lilac in the form of floating clouds against a perfect sky. Pink trim lined all eight of the walls, shooting upwards into the ceiling where they conjoined at the peak of the gazebo, a delicate looking leaf shaped hanging unlit light dangling below. In between the trim on the ceiling was sharp shades of indigo and violet and navy and emerald, constellations painted with careful detail, a different one in each of the eight slices. There was a work bench painted gold below the only window in the room, shining in the wet light. The window was so large it took up the entirety of the center of the one wall, with a beautiful flower carved into the glass with swooping petals and long stemmed leaves. Gold floating shelves lined the walls, along with black barrels and chests, all neat and untouched and entirely _new_. 

Seonghwa was _speechless_ as he looked around the room. When he finally stopped looking around the room as though he were seeing apparitions, he looked to Hongjoong once again. There was an intensity pressing against the inside of his chest that he wasn’t sure he knew how to express, not with words and not with actions, but he felt as though if he said _nothing_ he would explode. “Hongjoong,” He sighed, voice far dreamier than anything he could have ever thought possible. He no longer felt as though he were walking the world and there was a lingering fear that he had created the Prince as a long and detailed daydream. He feared he would blink and suddenly be at his desk in Doctor Seo’s old office, having only drifted off at his desk again while begging for closing time to come. Though when Hongjoong looked at him through his long eyelashes, eyes glittering with something so radiant yet shy while looking like a piece of the heavens that shattered and fell to earth, he knew even his mind couldn’t have created such a fantasy. “This is _beautiful_.”

“Thank you,” Hongjoong said, sounding relieved as his shoulders sunk minutely as though he had been taut with anticipation for the Doctor’s reaction. Seonghwa didn’t know how the Prince would ever think he would be anything other than completely _amazed_ by him. “The door took me _forever_ , but I’ll admit the ceiling was the hardest. I ended up with so many neck kinks. Also, thank you for working out all the soreness every time I called, by the way.” 

Seonghwa’s mouth went dry as he attempted to fully understand what the Prince was implying. There was a second where his brain had screeched to a halt, the gears attempting to shift into another direction as he replayed every night the Prince had asked him to sit and massage his neck and shoulders and arms. He had always thought that those nights had been nothing more than his attempt at seducing the poor Doctor, but now Seonghwa was beginning to think the seduction had only ever been a bonus. The other fact that his mind was attempting to fully comprehend was the implication that Hongjoong had done _all_ of this for him- he had hand-crafted a space for Seonghwa to do what makes him happy with his own trade. Seonghwa felt airy at the thought, mind slightly dizzy as he spoke, “You-” He stopped, looking back around the room with quick eyes before settling on him once again, “You did all this?” 

“I had help,” Hongjoong said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, eyes glancing to the hardwood beneath their feet that matched the outdoor trim. He wobbled on the sides of his soft-soled shoes as he spoke shyly, “Our carpenter and architect obviously helped a lot. I really only did the painting and the carving of the door.”

Seonghwa felt as though he could faint, heart and head equally as light as he grasped for words the evaded his tongue. “Hongjoong,” He prayed, voice so soft and so revenant he could think of it in no other way, “ _Thank you_.”

“Of course, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong responded immediately, voice dropping as he stepped closer to the man. The door shut and left them lit only by the window-light, the atmosphere becoming far more intimate with the enclosed space. The Prince was half shrouded in the darkness, his nose and eye shape accentuated by the stark contrast in a manner that made Seonghwa once again wish he knew how to draw. If he could draw, he would spend hours sketching Hongjoong, until his fingers ached and his pencil ran dull. When Hongjoong spoke again, his voice was in his throat, deep and rolling and caught along every one of Seonghwa’s nerves, “I would give you _everything_. I would give you every star in the sky if I could.” 

“Would you now?” Seonghwa breathed out, attempting to anchor the way his body had begun to float away. He was vying for a shred of control in the moment, but there was nothing he could do except get swept away by the current that was Hongjoong. 

“Yes, in fact,” Hongjoong said quickly, voice hoarse with an emotion that Seonghwa _craved_ to taste. He knew that emotion would taste like whiskey and honey, knew that it burned with a sweetness that made it addicting enough to get drunk on. He wanted to swallow that emotion as it fell from the Prince’s lips into the quiet room they were in. “I think I will spend the rest of my life and the next, dragging them to earth so I may give you every single one of them.” 

Seonghwa laughed, breathless and awed, wondering briefly when life felt more like a daydream than his daydreams ever had. He prayed to never be awoken from this feeling, to never be startled from the blossoms cradling his heart. “That’s awfully romantic, My Prince.” 

“It’s not romantic,” Hongjoong admonished quickly, eyes ablaze in the darkness. Seonghwa would have taken offense to the rejection if the Prince wasn’t staring at him in a manner that said he wanted to swallow him whole or perhaps take him apart _piece by piece_. “Selfish. I want to weigh you down and keep you with me until my soul finishes it’s cycle. If you carry the weight of the heavens, I will always know where to find you. I fear if you’re too light, you’ll slip away and join the cosmos.” 

Seonghwa felt his knees and resolve caving and he stepped forward, catching the Prince's face in his hands and closing whatever space was between them. When his lips found Hongjoong’s again, they were warm and pliant and all too ready for such a reaction. The kiss they shared was nothing short of breathtaking as the Doctor found himself falling into every single one of Hongjoong’s vices. There was no doubt left in his mind as he clung to the Prince, that he would accept whatever punishment was sent his way if it meant he was allowed to bask in this moment just long enough to feel _alive_. 

\---  
Seonghwa set to work immediately tending to his gardening, bringing seeds and uprooting plants from his home to replant at the castle. He had insisted to Hongjoong that it was an entirely safe procedure, but the Prince still felt as though it were cruel to remove the plants from their _home_. When Hongjoong had raised such a fuss with the thought, Seonghwa had merely pressed a sweet and chaste kiss to his pout and grinned at him with an astounding amount of fondness. Hongjoong had accepted it under the condition that Seonghwa promised he spoke to the plants as they were transferred and told them they would be safe. 

The two weeks that followed the reveal were full of days where Hongjoong would lay in the grass on a blanket next to Seonghwa and read or nap while he worked, keeping himself occupied in the watery sunlight. Seonghwa often sang as he gardened, voice beautiful and occasionally haunting as he chose sweet ballads and lullabies that Hongjoong had never heard before. When Hongjoong would be called from their privacy to the study for his lessons, he would often return later to find the Doctor still hunched over the earth, singing to the plants carelessly. Hongjoong would bring snacks, drinks, and occasionally meals, as they spent their time together enjoying the space that Seonghwa was slowly bringing to life with his careful, loving hands. 

Now the two were seated in Seonghwa’s house, cozied together on the couch in the early morning light as they each drank coffee from steaming black mugs. Hongjoong admired the hairline crack lining the inside of his mug and had noticed the small chip in the porcelain on Seonghwa’s own. Something about the small detail made him feel as though he were entirely at _home_ , warm and comfortable.

Hongjoong hadn’t noticed himself scooting closer to Seonghwa, not until his shoulder bumped into his and the Doctor looked down at him suspiciously. “Why are you invading my space this early in the morning, Prince?”

Hongjoong scoffed, sipping his coffee and kicking his feet slightly. The action was bratty, petulant, a habit formed after many years of spoiled behaviorism- the action now held far less weight, though, a simple habit and nothing more, only revealing itself when he felt rather _taunting_. “You should be thanking me for coming so close to you. It’s a privilege, after all.” 

“A privilege for you or me?” Seonghwa questioned, smiling slightly behind his mug. He looked smug, eyes still slightly puffy from sleep, glasses sliding down his nose and lightly steamed from the drink. He looked pretty and the waxing morning light, but Hongjoong wondered if Seonghwa was even capable of looking anything _other_ than pretty.

Hongjoong shoved his shoulder into him with a slight vengeance, glowering at him in return. Seonghwa swayed to the side, body limber and enticing to watch as he did so, waving similarly to a flower dancing in the breeze. Hongjoong scoffed, tone biting despite the smile he was stifling behind his own mug, “Only you’d be as bold as to ask me such a question.”

Seonghwa hummed, melodic and lilting, but said nothing more on the subject. His lips returned to the mug and Hongjoong couldn’t help but admire the plush curve. He looked away quickly when the Doctor glanced at him from the corner of his eye, the fluttering feeling in his chest returning as it often did when he was sat around the Doctor in private. He found the silence with the man felt awfully loud but never grating, the soundlessness wrapping around the two like a blanket they could share politely. He wondered if there would come a time when he didn’t feel as achingly pleasant and cozy, if there was ever a future without the stuttering heart and tongue. Hongjoong’s mother had spent most of her life with Madame Choi and _she_ didn’t seem to tire of the woman’s company despite the fact. Hongjoong had the insecurity, though, that it would eventually happen as so many people had warned him of the way that love died with time. It was part of the reason everyone had said he would be lucky to have his marriage planned as he would never have to experience the pain of watching as the flame dulled to coal that collapsed to ash before him. He didn’t want to watch that happen, was _terrified_ of the thought and always had been. Sitting here, though, with Seonghwa in the silence of the morning that he felt could last a lifetime, he wondered if it was worth it- he wondered if that future pain was worth the pleasure he could experience in the meanwhile.

“Do you think love dies?” Hongjoong hadn’t realized he was speaking until the question hung in the air like an omen of a future that wasn’t certain to come. 

Seonghwa was clearly caught off guard by the question, eyes bulging as he stared at the Prince, mug half raised to slackened lips. He was only shook from the statuesque posture he had formed when Milo rubbed against his calves, cooing into the open air. Seonghwa blinked and set down his coffee on the table, coughing slightly as though to dispel the remaining paralytics. “My dear Prince,” He said finally, voice caught somewhere between bemused and concerned, “What brings on such a dreary thought?”

“I was just thinking,” Hongjoong said, setting his own mug down and tucking his knees to his chest. He felt exposed suddenly, as though every one of his nerves was on full display for the world to pinch at as it pleased. He curled around his legs as a way to protect himself, though not from the Doctor, but himself. “That people have told me often about the way that love dies with too much time. Do you think love dies?”

Seonghwa looked at Milo, who was still circling his feet, with such a contemplative gaze that Hongjoong wondered where his mind had creeped off to. Seonghwa often became lost in thought, one word triggering a moment where he was once again thinking of a world he built entirely up in his mind. Hongjoong didn’t mind it, always using the opportunity to admire the tip of his nose and the way his nose sloped with a flat curve and the sharpness of his jawline. He would admire the hollows of his cheekbones and the way his cheeks were plump yet his bone structure so harsh. He would admire the way his throat contracted as he thought, the knot there bobbing occasionally as he worked over situations in his mind. He admired the curve of his shoulders and the way he held himself with reserved professionalism no matter the setting. Hongjoong had become reliant on him as his source of artistic inspiration, fingers only ever itching to draw the perfected lines that created the Doctor and the life surrounding him. 

When Seonghwa seemed to reach his conclusion, he looked much less contemplative and far more steady, eyes landing directly on Hongjoong without hesitation. “No, Hongjoong,” He said finally, soft and soothing in such a quiet climate, “I don’t think love dies. Love isn’t-love isn’t alive, Hongjoong. It’s a feeling. It’s created in your body and it will always be there. Sometimes it changes- sometimes into another kind of love or sometimes another emotion entirely and sometimes not always a _nice_ emotion. When I took over Doctor Seo’s office, I thought for sure that I had lost the love I had for medicine. I began dreading my days. That wasn’t true, though; I still loved my trade, I simply was displeased with the way in which I was practicing. Love changes over time, Hongjoong, but it doesn’t die. When it changes, you must change with it. That’s all.”

“What about romantic love?” Hongjoong felt small asking such a question, clinging to his legs and staring at his knees, “People say that it just...disappears with time or _too much_.”

Seonghwa’s chuckle was sweet and soft and so pacifying, that Hongjoong couldn’t think there would be a day where he didn’t wish to listen to the sound. “My Prince, that’s only for people who were never actually in love to begin with. What brought on such a thought anyways?” 

“I was just thinking that I don’t ever want to _not_ feel like this.” Hongjoong blanched as he realized his confession, quickly raising his hands and waving them as he shook his head rapidly, “Hold on, hold on, hold on- don’t-don’t take it like _that_. I was just- what I mean-Quit laughing.” 

Seonghwa’s shock had morphed into pure delight which had led into a round of barely controlled giggles that left the Prince feeling more flustered than necessary. Seonghwa reached to him with unthreatening hands, grasping his wrist so softly he might as well have been holding a broken bird. Seonghwa tugged him over with forceless movements, the Prince following easily and collapsing rather pathetically into his arms. Seonghwa cradled him there, against his chest as he curled up between his legs, allowing himself to be swallowed by the man’s bigger body. He let the Prince pout into the silence while holding him close, nuzzling into his hair with the occasional soundless chuckle. Hongjoong _should_ have felt embarrassed, but when Seonghwa held him in such a mindful and conscientious manner, he could only feel the jittery feeling of his heart return. When the Prince’s complaints finally died on his tongue, Hongjoong tilted his head upwards to look at the Doctor who continued to look forward.

“It’s unbefitting of a Prince to be stuttering.” Seonghwa’s voice was patronizing in the way that it often was, though it lacked any form of sting and made Hongjoong’s chest tighten, constricting his heart into swollen beats that felt far too strong for the lack of activity.

“It’s unbefitting of a Prince to be cuddling with castle-staff, yet here we are.” Hongjoong narrowed his eyes upwards at the Doctor, who finally glanced at him with a coy smirk. 

“Yes, here we are.” The moment was thick again, air slightly heavier than it should’ve been. The tension was there once again, the knots curling in Hongjoong’s abdomen as he attempted to swallow the honey-thick feeling in his throat. Hongjoong found that this weight never truly left the two, the bubble they created together filled with something smokey and nearly tantalizing. It was moments like these where he would swear he could still taste Seonghwa on his tongue and it made him _nervous_ in an entirely _new_ manner. 

As it often did, however, the air melted into something breathable as Milo crawled onto the couch and reminded the two of the world’s existence. Seonghwa reached around Hongjoong’s body to scratch at the cat’s head, earning him an approving chirp, and Hongjoong simply watched the way his elegant fingers curled around the delicate ears. He felt his body relaxing slowly into the Doctor’s chest as the cat began to knead half on the couch and half on his thigh. Hongjoong would flinch occasionally as his claws would pierce through the slacks he wore, but he forced himself to remain still so as to not disturb such a sweet moment the trio shared. _This_ felt like _life_ , Hongjoong thought. This felt like _home_. This felt like something he wanted to experience repeatedly until he moved onto the next life. 

It was then, with the cat’s claws pin-pricking his soft inner thigh and Seonghwa’s breath tickling his neck and the shared warmth of the cottage in the woods, that Hongjoong accepted what he felt. 

“Actually,” He said, voice barely above the decibel of the cat’s purr. Seonghwa hummed curiously into his neck, lips pressing only once behind his ear in an encouraging action. “I meant it. I don’t ever want to lose _this_ feeling.”

Hongjoong wasn’t surprised when the Doctor’s chin dropped to his shoulder, cheek pressing against his neck as he held him only the slightest bit tighter, fingers curling in his light-weight sweater comfortingly. “Then you won’t, My Prince,” Seonghwa promised, voice as sweet as when he sang the lullabies to his garden. “If that is what you want, then that shall be so.” 

“When you speak like that, I feel as though I have no choice but to believe you.” Hongjoong’s tone was light, but his heart was trembling in his chest again with that cursed rhythm, the same rhythm Seonghwa had recorded in unofficial records with skeptical eyes what felt like so long ago. Hongjoong wondered if _that_ would ever disappear or if he would never feel entirely stable around the man. 

Seonghwa hummed again, pressing another light kiss behind his ear, and sighed softly after. His nose nuzzled gently into his nape and Hongjoong counted the seconds as Seonghwa did nothing but absorb himself in the Prince. “It is my intentions that you do believe me. As I’ve said before, My Prince, there is very little you could ever ask of me that I would not do.”

“What is an impossible task for my Doctor, then?” Hongjoong asked, dragging one of his free hands to clutch at the one Seonghwa held around his waist. He liked the feeling of when the Doctor curled his fingers gently into his stomach, only a slight bit of pressure reminding him that this was _real_ and not a dream his mind had conjured one excessively long night- it made his shoulders relax and mind ease. “What is something I could ask of you that you could not do?”

“Get rid of Milo,” Seonghwa said after a beat, voice lighthearted and teasing. Hongjoong snickered into the air, wiggling his back against the Doctor’s with small movements. 

Hongjoong was serious in his reply, despite the fact that the statement had been anything but, “That is an impossible task as I would never ask that of you.” 

“I know,” Seonghwa said softly, voice dropping as he pressed another kiss to the same spot _again_. Hongjoong wondered why the Doctor liked the place behind his ear so much, often pressing meaningless kisses to the soft skin there- he never complained, the action calming. “Forget you. That’s something I could never do. See, My Prince, if you were to ask me to leave you and never return, I would- I could do that if it was what you _wanted_. I could move back as your physician and create a professional facade once again. If you told me that you no longer wished for me to be anything more than _that_ , I would do it for you. I could never forget you, though. Moments like these where I’ve grown to know the shape of you- the _taste_ of you- No, I could never forget.”

Hongjoong’s fingers tightened around the Doctor’s, his free hand having moved to clutch at his jean-clad thigh with slightly desperate drags. He was grounding himself from the flighty feeling of his heart attempting to carry his body into the sky. He felt breathless, lips parted and eyes unfocused as he attempted to process the pure depth of what Seonghwa was _admitting_. 

Then, a soft chuckle from behind him broke his thoughts as Seonghwa added thoughtfully, “I also would never kill someone for you.” Hongjoong choked on his tongue, head darting to the side to look at the Doctor with wide eyes, nearly crashing their skulls together in the process. Seonghwa’s chuckles morphed into near-laughs as he held the Prince tighter, “I took an oath as a Doctor to heal and never harm. I can’t break that, even for you, My Prince.”

Hongjoong scrunched his nose, squinting at him without malice, “I’d never ask that of you anyways. That’s what staff like Yunho and Mingi are for, they’re the brawn and you can be-”

A knock on the front door interrupted Hongjoong’s line of speech and both looked to the door cautiously. Seonghwa disentangled himself from the Prince to answer the door as he always did, shoulders squared and eyes set. The Doctor was always exceedingly cautious with the Prince’s presence in his home, eyeing every motion outside and double-checking the locks. Hongjoong appreciated the gesture, even if he thought it to be excessive. Hongjoong listened as Seonghwa shuffled to the door and opened it, his voice friendly as he spoke with the person outside. Hongjoong let himself relax into the couch, fingers dancing over Milo’s head as he allowed the cat’s purr to soothe the ache in his body. 

When Seonghwa returned he looked slightly melancholic, though he smiled regardless. “Mingi said it’s time to go, that Yunho messaged him and said that Madame Choi is looking for you.”

Hongjoong sighed, patting Milo apologetically as he stood. Seonghwa was looking at him with an indecipherable expression, one that almost felt nostalgic, almost felt longing, almost felt like a plea for tomorrow. Hongjoong wanted to stay, everything within him begging him to _stay_. He couldn’t, though, so he didn’t. “There’s never a break from royalty, I guess.”

Hongjoong had expected a harsh lecture upon arriving at the castle from the tongue shaped like a lashing whip. He had expected Madame Choi to be standing in a stiff suit with stiffer brows and a wagging finger, disappointment and chastising falling from her crooning mouth. It was what he had prepared for the entire way back with an ever quiet Mingi driving the car. What he hadn’t expected was to be led to the highest floor of the castle by an unusually silent Yunho who had met them at the entrance wordlessly and into his mother’s private sitting room. 

Even less had he expected to find his mother perched comfortably in one of the armchairs, poised and perfect as always. 

Hongjoong saw a lot of himself in his mother- they shared a nose and the same petite body-frame. She was who gave him his brilliant red hair, though hers fell in soft waves to her waist with glimmering strands of silver that caught the eye only occasionally. Like Hongjoong, she had only ever known _this_ life, only had ever lived within the confines of stone and precious metals. She had been born into the lineage, just as he had, and she was going to die in it, just as he was.

There were more differences between them though, Hongjoong thought, than there were similarities. His mother did not have smile lines and she carried a tenseness in her forehead that Hongjoong did not, one that only ever seemed to deepen and never lessen. She looked at the world with a checklist of perfection, her expectations rarely satisfied. She looked at the world as a chessboard and every move she made was for _one_ goal only. She was austere, in every sense of the word, carrying the title of Queen with strong shoulders and set chin. Despite the cold aura, she had been a rather wonderful mother- doting and loving and careful. She had given Hongjoong everything he had wanted and Madame Choi had always cared for him equally. Hongjoong couldn’t remember his father, the man having died when he was far too young to remember, and Madame Choi’s face seemed to be the only image his brain could conjure of such a figure.

It had been a long while, though, since Hongjoong had seen her as _his mother_ and not as _the Queen_.

Sitting there in the floral chair with her hair falling gracefully over her shoulders, looking comfortable in a pastel lounging gown and lightweight white robe, she looked like his mother. Hongjoong felt his chest ache slightly, curiosity burning with something wistful.

“Hongjoong,” She said carefully, voice even and lacking the command she carried in public. It was then that Hongjoong was understanding that this was _personal_ \- this was entirely his _mother_. “Please come and sit. I’d like to talk with you for a bit.”

Hongjoong’s feet moved on their own, steps silent in his soft-soled shoes. He shoved his clear glasses up his nose and tucked himself into the corner of the long and elegant floral couch in front of her. The fabric of the couch was white and the flowers were pastel watercolor- it felt more like his mother’s personality than the rest of the castle did, the only signs of _her_ found in her quarters; everywhere else was a product of _the Queen_. “Okay,” He said softly, looking at her as he curled his fingers around each other, “What is on your mind?” 

She smiled softly at him, lips barely tugging upwards, though her eyes were kind. He understood why his mother was so stern looking- she was a Queen, after all, with no King. She carried the royalty alone and had done so for years. She was petite and Hongjoong knew that in her younger years, when his father had still been alive and Hongjoong was nothing but an idea, she had been spoken over a lot. Hongjoong also knew that that had only changed once Madame Choi had joined her side, the unmarried advisor becoming his mother’s backbone. He understood the way she carried herself was an assertion of her power but also a protective shield against the world prepared to undermine her. He respected her and her life and her power, he just wished he had more times where she allowed them to be _parent and child_.

She tucked her legs up sideways on the chair, propping her elbow on the arm and eyeing him curiously. “What is this I’m hearing about my son taking on a lover?”

Hongjoong blanched, fingers slipping apart as he waved his hands quickly as though to dispel the words from the air. “No,” He said, then repeated the word in a mantra as his face grew warm and heart-rate jittered, “I’ve done no such thing. Where have you heard such a rumor?”

“Are you saying Madame Choi has lied to me?” Her eyebrow raise made Hongjoong still, fingers knotting nervously again. She was giving him a second chance to redeem himself, the unintentional offense of accusing Madame Choi of such an action greatly abhorrent in his mother’s opinion. Hongjoong couldn’t skirt around the issue if Madame Choi had been the one to discuss it with his mother. 

“No,” Hongjoong said finally, feeling small under his mother’s gaze. It felt like the time when he was young and had accidentally thrown a ball through one of the stained glass windows in the throne room, shattering it entirely. His mother’s gaze had been equally as foreboding as the one she wore now and it made him feel like a child again. “I just mean it’s-it’s not like _that_.”

“Tell me about it, my dear.” She said softly, expression mollifying into something more open that relaxed the Prince slightly. 

“I don’t-I don’t have a lover.” Hongjoong said slowly, raising his hand and wiggling his fingers, the silver band catching the light. His mother watched the movement and caught the meaning, nodding slowly as she rested her cheek on her palm and let him continue. “I just have someone I think...I think I’m interested in.”

“Pray tell?” She asked when it became clear that Hongjoong’s voice was no longer filling the room. “I’m assuming they’re not a political or royal connection, considering I was uninvolved.” 

Hongjoong nodded slowly, feeling slightly stiff as he did so. _They_. He knew his mother knew. There was little chance that Madame Choi had kept Seonghwa’s identity secret. Still, he appreciated the fact that she was allowing him to speak on it on his own. “No, nothing of the sort. He’s a doctor- well, he is _my_ Doctor.”

She hummed into the silence, unobtrusive and non-descript, simply letting Hongjoong know she was listening. “I don’t know when it happened,” He confessed, looking down to the ground now and to the bleached wood that made up the floor of the room. His mother loved the color white, loved pale, bleached tones with stark black accents. Hongjoong felt as though there was a lack of vibrancy in the areas his mother created and his mind wandered to the various shades of Seonghwa’s cottage. He felt his chest heat as he chewed on his lip at the thought of the warm home waiting for him to come back and the even warmer chest he would find there. He wasn’t sure when he had begun smiling but he couldn’t find it in him to cease the expression as he continued speaking, “It just _did_. At first, I just thought he was fun to bother and I thought I could coerce him into becoming my friend. I think-I think it happened early on, my feelings. He is so kind and patient and easy to be around. He’s supportive and grounding and he’s so _smart_. He’s so gentle, too, with everything he does. He’s trained in botany and is a chemist along with being a medical doctor- he’s trained in traditional medicine and he has such a beautiful garden. He talks to his plants- he says they listen and carry emotions the same way everything alive does. I didn’t think- I’d never really thought of plants as _living_ before, but the way he treats them- it’s so meticulous and attentive and _gentle_ \- I find he often treats _me_ the same.”

Hongjoong risked a glance at his mother, who was watching him intently with a lack of expression on her face. She wasn’t upset, though the blank canvas gave Hongjoong little hope for a positive reaction. “He’s very supportive of me and my work. I mean to say that he is supportive of me in _every_ way. He loves my art and sports, but he also helps me talk through my political dilemmas and listens to every problem of mine that arises. He’s very…” Hongjoong paused, sighing as he sunk backwards into the chair and shrugged with downcast eyes, “He’s very _good_.”

“I see,” She said after a long moment where the words hung in the air like incense. Hongjoong didn’t know if he had said the right things, though he wondered just what could have been considered the _right things_ at a time like this. He hoped honesty was all she was searching for, because he couldn’t find it in himself to mince his words again. “He sounds like he would be the perfect advisor for you.” 

“He would,” Hongjoong agreed readily, looking up to her finally. “I think he would be a fantastic advisor.”

“And advisor only,” His mother added, eyes steady as she watched him deflate. He had known the addition was coming, had long since foreseen his mother’s slight disapproval. It still didn’t make the knowledge sting any less, feeling as though ants were crawling over his body and biting him at every soft point. He winced when she spoke again, voice intentionally apologetic, “I know it doesn’t seem fair, but Hongjoong- you have obligations-”

“No,” He said quietly, voice wavering on the word only slightly. The word was foreign to him in this setting, the declination completely unusual. It tasted bittersweet, like vicious rhubarb and strawberry pie. His hands shook in his lap, fingers wrapping around one another to keep himself steady and strong. He was asserting himself for once, putting _his_ wants above others. He deserved it, he thought, just having the _one_ thing that makes him genuinely, unbridledly happy. There were few things in this world that would make him disregard his mother’s requests and he was finding Seonghwa to be the source of _all_ of them.

“Pardon?” She asked, blinking several times as though she were attempting to catch up with his rejection. Slowly, she sat up a little bit straighter, eyes more focused on him than before with something as sharp as a blade. “What do you mean _no_?”

“I mean,” Hongjoong stressed, grinding his teeth briefly before gathering his nerves. “ _No_. I mean that I will decide how this relationship goes.” 

“I think we can compromise on him being your advisor,” She said, expression level as ever. She was attempting to negotiate his love-life and something about the realization made Hongjoong’s blood fill with fire. She was _politicizing_ their moment and his relationship. He nearly curled his lips when she continued speaking, looking as casual as before while he became more defensive in posture. “You can do whatever it is you wish to in private, but you’ll be wed eventually.”

“No,” He repeated, feet landing on the floor as he straightened himself up. He wasn’t going to allow her to drag him along by a collar any longer. Hongjoong wouldn’t do that to himself and he _certainly_ wouldn’t do that to Seonghwa. He wanted a relationship with Seonghwa and he wanted everything that came along _with_ one. “No, you misunderstand the situation. _This_ is the compromise: I get to maintain my relationship with him and you get to keep me as your heir. I will leave. I will resign and the Kim reign will end with _me_. They can elect a new monarch for all I care. I will not lose _this_. I know you think that love isn’t required for a marriage, but _I don’t want that_. I want what I have and I’m _keeping_ what I have. So the compromise I’m offering is I stay and I keep him in whatever capacity it is that he will have me.”

Hongjoong watched as she slowly sat up, crossing her legs and thumbing at her lip. She was studying him in that moment, eyes calculating and careful and it was belatedly that he recognized her as the Queen. “What a firm decision it is that you’ve laid out,” Her voice wasn’t emotionless, though Hongjoong couldn’t pinpoint the chilling tone. “You’ve truly set your mind to this, haven’t you? I can tell you’ve thought a lot on this- on _him_. Tell me, how would you carry an heir if you were to marry this man?”

“There’s ways,” Hongjoong insisted, keeping his voice equally as level as he channeled his _Prince_ mask. If she were going to shift to her poltical persona, then he would need to do so as well. He refused to allow her to be the only power in the room. “There’s plenty of ways for me to continue the lineage. I’m not concerned with that at the moment, though I have thought of it. If we were to marry, then I would discuss our options with _him_.” 

There was only a moment before she cracked, her mask shattering and immediately she was back to his _mother_. Hongjoong would have caught whiplash if not for the fact that he had grown up dealing with the sudden shifts between _political_ and _personal_. “Oh my dear boy,” She said finally, voice less coarse and lacking any sharp edges. There was a distinct pride within her tired eyes as she assessed him once again, regarding him with something so motherly he felt the tension melting from his own body. “What a fine King you will make.”

\---  
The day seemed to be full of unexpected surprises, because when Hongjoong shoved the heavy wood of his door open, he had expected to wander in and collapse into bed to process the strange meeting he had had with his mother. He found, however, that the room was not empty, a familiar lithe figure loitering at his desk, fingers trailing over worn sketch books. 

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong practically breathed the name as he stepped into his room and shut the door behind him. It was always a strangely private feeling when the Prince was locked in _his_ room with the Doctor. He had thought he would grow used to the feeling, but it only seemed to intensify with time. Perhaps the more he grew to know the Doctor, the more intimate these moments felt or perhaps it was that he was able to appreciate them more deeply. Seonghwa was dressed so casually today, jeans and the faded graphic tee shirt looking so unusual and out of place in the Prince’s room. He looked as he had when Hongjoong had left him at his cottage; he looked inviting, he looked homey. Hongjoong had to suppress the urge to cross the room and collapse into him at the sight. “I wasn’t expecting you to come in. It’s your day off.”

Seonghwa smiled softly as he looked at the Prince, the smile that barely moved his mouth and didn’t reach his eyes. It wasn’t a disingenuous smile, but it was the one he wore when he was absorbing the emotions in the area around him as he became lost in his mind. Hongjoong had begun to recognize that, the minute change of his face or body, that told him when Seonghwa was drifting. He never minded. He watched as the Doctor’s fingers tapped the leather-bound sketchbook with padded sounds before he turned fully to the Prince. “I think that there are few things I’d rather do than spend my day off with you.”

Hongjoong snorted, walking over to his couch and dropping heavily onto the comfortable furniture. Seonghwa watched as he kicked his feet up onto the ottoman with his shoes still on and he _knew_ the Doctor was itching to smack his feet off. Seonghwa hated the idea of the germs and the dirt, always preferring to keep everything neat and tidy. Hongjoong couldn’t say he shared the sentiment, not entirely- he liked cleanliness, but there were times where it just was the farthest thing from his first thought. Seonghwa made his way over with quiet steps, studying the way the Prince was slouched and dejected looking- Hongjoong was certain he was carrying a dark grey cloud with him today, whether metaphorical or literal.

“My Prince,” Seonghwa said as he rounded the armchair to stand in front of the Prince’s feet. Hongjoong watched as he bent at the waist to carefully grasp his ankle with his elegant fingers. He took his time sliding the single shoe off, slightly tickling the Prince and causing a trail of goosebumps up his leg, before setting his foot back down. He reached for the second and Hongjoong let him, leg entirely limp in his grasp as he removed the remaining shoe, wordlessly. Only once the Prince remained in just his stockings did the Doctor slide his shoes under the ottoman with a relieved noise. When he was satisfied, he sat down in the armchair, legs crossed and hands intertwined to rest on his lap prettily. Hongjoong had been completely unmoving the entire process, feeling slightly petulant and desiring some form of attention and comfort but unsure still as to how to request it from the Doctor. Seonghwa’s voice was mellow when he spoke, completely unalarming and unthreatening, but it just made Hongjoong ache with the want to crawl into his lap and take a nap. “What is the problem?”

“It wasn’t Madame Choi that wanted to meet,” Hongjoong finally admitted, voice muffled against his fist as he continued to rest there without moving. Seonghwa’s eyebrows knitted momentarily before the realization fell over his expression, widening his eyes only slightly. There was a distinct layer of panic coating his features, one he was unable to hide from Hongjoong and it made the Prince nod slightly to confirm his fears. “Yeah, it was my mother. She found out.” 

Seonghwa quickly lost the color in his face, skin turning ashen, as his eyes seemed to become unfocused and his throat bobbed useless. Hongjoong was briefly concerned he was going to pass out, wondering if he should fetch Yunho to help him or not. “She- what?”

“Madame Choi must have told her at some point.” Hongjoong snorted, a rather ugly noise in the moment that he would potentially regret later, but he only found frustration lining his chest. He was frustrated at many things in that moment: his mother, Madame Choi, the city, his future, the fact that he wasn’t able to just _go and hold Seonghwa_ no matter how much he wanted to. How was it that he could spend the morning in the man’s arms, but feel as though if he were to so much as brush his skin that he would be burned at the stake? He hated the feeling pooling in his chest and fingers, the tightness, the heat. His words were slightly bitter when he spat them out, taut and angry. “She wanted to sit me down and talk to me about it. So I told her about you- about _us_.”

The silence between them felt as though they were underwater, Hongjoong’s ears swimming as his lungs begged for breath he couldn’t take. Seonghwa looked as though he had already drowned. When he spoke, it was grave, voice hoarse as though he had truly swallowed seawater, “I will be executed.”

Hongjoong only snorted again, shaking his head as he attempted to dispel both the uncomfortable air and the feeling still choking him. “She’s okay with it. Kind of.” Hongjoong scrunched his nose and shrugged, leaning back in his seat again, hoping that if he forced himself to relax that the feeling would slip from his body. “I didn’t give her much of an option to be anything _but_ okay with it.” 

“Hongjoong-” Seonghwa started, voice tense and body notched. He looked both tense and boneless, limp with stress. He looked like he was ready to fly from the room or melt into a puddle. Hongjoong felt the feeling in his chest coil further, tightening, heating. He didn’t like the sensation, didn’t know what to call it, but it was beginning to become overwhelming and pricked at the base of his jaw as if to be released from his mouth. “You can’t- I will certainly be punished for this.” 

As Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa’s panicked expression, he felt something seed in the center of his chest along with the heated emotion- something ugly, something heavy, something _insecure_. He wondered for a moment if he had misread all the signs and that this had truly been nothing more than something illicit and exciting in the pair's dull lives. He felt like he was choking on the feeling, vines twining in his throat. He looked away from the Doctor, unable to stand both the emotion curling inside of him and the sad gaze the man was giving him, a fearful look. “I can go and tell her that I misunderstood and will be retracting the agreement we came to.” 

“What?” Seonghwa’s voice was lighter now, more confused as he seemed to register the Prince’s reaction. He made a soft noise and as quickly as the feeling had grown inside of Hongjoong, it was snuffed equally as quick when the man settled into the couch beside him, wrapping around him with familiarly comforting arms. “No, that wasn’t what I was implying, My Prince. I don’t-I’m not asking to end _this_. Hongjoong, you have to understand I’m nothing more than a _civilian_ , one you _hired_. It’s not-it’s very untraditional. I never sought permission, I have been quite literally coercing you into an inappropriate relationship. Besides, she is your _mother_.” 

Hongjoong pulled back to look at him, eyes narrowed as the frustrating feeling finally came to a boil within him, bubbling over the sides and out of his mouth. Before he could stop himself he was seething at the surprised looking Doctor with a tone he knew he would regret later but couldn’t _stop_. “I’m not a passive party in this relationship,” He hissed, struggling to create some form of space between the two. Seonghwa allowed him to shove him a small distance away, the Prince also sliding against the couch with the force of his movements. His face was hot, his hands were hot, his body was _hot_. He felt as though he were finally immolating, body sacrificed to the feeling in his chest and it _hurt_. “You don’t need to ask anyone’s permission but _my own_. I think you should leave.” 

The command hung heavily in the room, Hongjoong’s own dark cloud filling the space entirely now. He refused to look at the Doctor knowing he would deflate instantly, eyes pinned to the table in front of him with a resolve he hadn’t known he’d had. He wondered how the day had changed so quickly and why the honey-sweet warmth of his chest from that morning felt so distant and dull compared to the burning fire he felt now.

Finally, Seonghwa stood from the couch. The distance between them felt grander than it ever had, Hongjoong thought, and a part of him ached to reach out and tug the Doctor back next to him and apologize. Hongjoong didn’t, though. He tucked his hands between his thighs and kept his eyes away from the Doctor. He knew he wasn’t in the wrong, that he had nothing to apologize for. He was simply _so tired_ of being treated as though he were nothing more than an heirloom to be inherited and passed around as decided. He was tired of being spoken to as though he held no thoughts or desires of his own. He was accustomed to others treating him in such a manner, but the sting of it coming from Seonghwa felt numbing. 

“Alright,” The Doctor spoke softly, after he collected himself. The room was stagnant, stale and awful as he stood up. He moved silently, not even the rustle of his clothes making noise, or perhaps Hongjoong just couldn’t hear it over the rush of blood in his ears. Either way the Doctor’s voice was taut and quiet as he stood there, “If that is what you wish.” 

Hongjoong listened to his quiet steps, listened to the way he moved as he grabbed his coat from the rack, and listened to the deafening sound of the door latching behind him. 

With the sound of genuine silence surrounding him, Hongjoong pressed a hand to his heart that was thundering wildly, painfully. He was beginning to understand the emotion within him, the ugly and destructive fire tearing through him. _Shame_.

Hongjoong clutched his chest, fingers curling into his own shirt, and counted to thirty. Then he repeated. He repeated the countdown until he was certain the door would not open again and only then did he finally break. Engulfed by the feeling of true aloneness and the realization of his shame flooding his mind and the hollow hole in his chest, he wept.

\---  
The guilt of the morning hadn’t left Seonghwa the entire day. The sun had arched in the sky and began to sink and the clawing feeling still tore at his spine and gagged him. He knew he was at fault and the understanding of _why_ only made him feel that much worse.

He felt exhausted as he stood in front of Yunho now, looking at the peach haired Guard with pleading eyes. Mingi was off to the side, lounging on a bench and watching the two without input. Mingi didn’t speak much to Seonghwa, but Seonghwa got the feeling that Mingi didn’t speak much to _anyone_. He didn’t take offense to it- if anything he rather liked the Guards stoic and silent presence. 

“Yunho, please,” Seonghwa begged, fingers tight around the tupperware he held. He clung to the glass container as though it were both a shield and a lifeline, the weight nothing more than an olive branch. 

“He said _no visitors_. I’m not even allowed up in the upper hall. You’re asking me to go against the Prince’s direct orders.” Yunho looked distressed, like he was in the middle of a dilemma he had no ability to solve. Seonghwa couldn’t say if he had ever seen the Guard look so conflicted in his decisions, jaw tense as he worked over the answer with a wet sincerity. “I can’t let you up.” 

“But if I don’t go up he’s just going to mope until he’s nothing.” Seonghwa insisted, knowing the Prince was undoubtedly wallowing in the negativity as he always did in moments like these. He felt his chest ache at the thought and the knowledge that this time _he_ was the source. “Please, I’ll take the punishment for you if he is truly upset. I’ll tell him that I forced you to let me in.”

Yunho’s eyebrows were furrowed as he chewed on his lip. It took him only a moment before he shook his head slowly, looking regretful as his nose twitched. “I can’t. Seonghwa, I’m sorry.”

Seonghwa opened his mouth to reply, but it was Mingi this time who interrupted, his deep voice thoughtful. “Let him up. The Prince isn’t going to be mad. When has the Prince _ever_ been mad?”

Yunho looked at the other Guard with a surprised face and Seonghwa took the opportunity to slip around him and through the door. He listened to Yunho’s chastising as he ascended the stairs, but the lack of footsteps trailing him made Seonghwa more confident. Yunho wasn’t going to chase him down, whether that be by his choice or Mingi’s was unknown.

Hongjoong’s bedroom door had never looked so intimidating, Seonghwa thought. It had never looked like _this_ before. The butterfly motif stared at him angrily, like a guardian protecting something valuable, something _untouchable_. Seonghwa almost opened the door by habit, though he thought better of it, bringing a single hand to knock on the wood with a jarring sound. It was hesitant, his movements, but he had done it before he could turn around and disappear.

“I said no visitors, Yunho.” Hongjoong called back, but Seonghwa only knocked again, the sound more sure this time. He listened to the Prince’s complaints as he came to open the door with shuffling steps and muffled curses. When Hongjoong swung the door open, he looked disheveled and stressed and it made the guilt pool heavier in his stomach. “What part of no- oh.” 

Seonghwa was briefly concerned that Hongjoong would close the door on him. Hongjoong didn’t. “I would like to formally apologize.” Seonghwa said, figuring that was the best place to start, shifting the glass container in his hands nervously. Hongjoong eyed the tupperware before looking back to Seonghwa’s face. “May I please come in?” 

Hongjoong looked like he was debating declining, debating upon turning him away and curling back into whatever nest he had formed in his room. Seonghwa prayed silently that he didn’t. It took an eternal minute before Hongjoong took a jerky step back and allowed him inside. Seonghwa entered quickly before he could rescind the offer and glanced around to see nothing had truly changed since this morning. The only difference from then and now was that the Prince looked far more sad in the sunset than he ever should, the colors far duller and his serene expression little more than a ghost.

When the door shut behind him, the silence was once again overwhelming. Hongjoong stood in front of him, wrapped in fuzzy pajamas with his arms tucked around his chest to protect himself. Seonghwa could see the puffiness of his cheeks, the redness around his eyes, and the knowledge that the Prince had been _crying alone_ because of _him_ made him feel as though he had swallowed a hive of bees. “Hongjoong,” He said, hoping the sincerity he felt in his chest came through in his voice. He watched as the Prince clung to himself a bit tighter. “I’m _so_ sorry. I realize that what I said this morning came across entirely different as to how I intended. I never meant to imply _you_ weren’t the one in control. I was shocked and I didn’t express my thoughts properly. What I was trying to say was that I often forget around you that you’re an actual _prince_ because I’m so used to you being just _you_. When I am reminded of such I feel inadequate, to say the least.” 

Hongjoong looked up then, eyes wide and sad and something in the moment broke. The horrible tension that had been clinging to the two since the morning seemed to instantly shatter with the insecurity Seonghwa finally expressed.

“Inadequate?” Hongjoong’s voice was pitchy as he stepped closer, though still too far. Seonghwa realized then how much he _hated_ the Prince being distant from him- if he was out of arms reach it left a bitter taste in his mouth and an ache to draw closer. Seonghwa didn’t want to feel this gap between them again, not for a _long_ while. “Seonghwa, you’re perfectly adequate- I’d even say _above_ the standard. I don’t- have I ever made you feel that way?” 

“Never,” Seonghwa rushed out as he saw the crestfall of Hongjoong’s shoulders, “Never. Not even once. It’s myself that creates thoughts like that. I worry that I won’t be _enough_. I can offer you nothing except my trade and my cat. I have- I’m not very-”

Seonghwa swallowed heavily at the insecurity crawling from his tongue and Hongjoong looked as though he were finally breaking as well. Seonghwa watched as his shoulders dropped and his arms unclasped. He could only watch from outside of his body as the Prince took the container from his hands and as he led the two to the couch. Seonghwa felt out of control of his own self, like once again Hongjoong was controlling him and he was _fine_ with that. He thought if Hongjoong were carrying his strings that he would be in perfect hands, perfect care. 

When the two finally were seated and comfortable, Hongjoong’s fingers wrapped around Seonghwa’s gently as he admired the way they fit together comfortably. Hongjoong’s hands were smaller, prettier. Seonghwa’s were slightly rough and tanned from his time in the garden, while Hongjoong’s were neatly cared for, manicured and entirely smooth. Seonghwa could admire the smallest details of the Prince for a lifetime if he was given the opportunity. He wanted to find the constellations in the freckles decorating his cheeks and knuckles. He wanted to find the veins of gold in the jade of his eyes. He wanted to spend hours just admiring the curve of his eyelashes. He didn’t want to be too far to admire these things _again_. 

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong said finally, voice even as he seemed lost in his thoughts. His tone was so light, voice so soft, he might as well have been speaking clouds into existence in that moment. “You offer me so much more than a dowry ever could.” 

Seonghwa chuckled, though it was wet and strained and it made Hongjoong look up finally. This close, Seonghwa could see the dryness under his eyes where the tears had collected and evaporated and the clustering of his now dry eyelashes. He could see the faint freckles reappearing from their days in the garden. He could see the gold veining in the jade of his iris. Seonghwa felt his heart stick with the small details, the ones he could see this close. “I didn’t mean to sound so crass earlier,” He said softly, keeping his hands to himself despite the desire to trace those little details to memory. “I never meant to make you feel as though you weren’t the one in control. My words come from a fear of losing you, rather than one of ownership. I-I fear that if others find out or if the Queen disproves-”

Hongjoong shrugged, halting Seonghwa’s words and racing heart as he sunk into the Doctor’s side. Hongjoong reminded him of Milo in that moment; the cat often would sulk only to return with sullen bumps against his arm, asking for attention quietly. Seonghwa let his arm cautiously wrap around the Prince, giving him ample time to escape if necessary. Hongjoong didn’t shy away and Seonghwa felt as though he could breathe again.

“I understand,” He said after a moment, voice as light and as easily missed as the spring breeze, “Admittedly I should’ve taken a more delicate approach. I was stressed after the conversation with my mother. It wasn’t _bad_ , but it wasn’t _pleasant_. I fear you’ve spoiled me far too much with conversation that I enjoy.”

Seonghwa chuckled only barely before reaching forward with his free arm and grabbing the container. “Well, My Prince,” He said softly, offering him the container, “Please accept my apology.”

Hongjoong glanced at the container and accepted it with a content noise. He opened it still tucked beneath Seonghwa’s arm, wiggling closer as he pried it open. The Doctor felt oddly nervous watching as he looked into the open container of cookies and the burlap pouch of tea. “It’s a white tea with strawberry, lemon, and mixed berry blend.” He said with a slight tinge of nerves nipping at his chest; he had never given someone his own tea blends, not as a gift and certainly never as an apology. It felt incredibly intimate for the action that it was. He watched the Prince raise the sack and sniff it lightly, a soft color filling his cheeks. “I figured you’d like something like that.”

When Hongjoong glanced up once again, he looked as though Seonghwa had gifted him the sun in that tiny sack. “How are you so…” Hongjoong didn’t seem to have a way to finish that sentence, his jaw moving without words. It made Seonghwa’s face heat as he looked away, staring at the cookies instead. He watched the Prince put the lid back on the container and curl further into him again. “Seonghwa, I think this is going to work.”

Seonghwa tugged him closer, pulling him more into his body as the Prince set the container on the ground and settled against him fully. “I hope so, Hongjoong. I hope so.”

“I didn’t get the chance to tell you earlier, but my mother is- she’s okay with it; with us. Initially, she had told me I’d need to keep it a secret, basically have you as a consort, but I told her that I didn’t want that- that I wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, My Prince,” Seonghwa sighed into his hair, kissing the crown of his head, “She’s still the Queen. If she orders me to stay away-”

“I think everyone forgets that I’m as much a reigning royal as she.” Hongjoong’s tone was quick, body tense beneath Seonghwa’s arm and he did his best to level him again. His fingers worked into his shoulder gently and only when the Prince began to loosen again did Hongjoong continue speaking, “I know she’s the Queen, but I’m going to be crowned _soon_. She -and everyone else for that matter- cannot continue to push me into the role of King only to ignore my decisions. It makes no sense. If they cannot trust my decision on something as non-consequential as my partner, then _why_ should I become their _King_? If I cannot govern my own life, how can I govern others? It’s ridiculous. Honestly, I’d never thought much of it until I met you. I’ve reconsidered a lot of things since I met you.”

Seonghwa just pulled him closer, kissing his head again. Whenever he held Hongjoong like this, his instincts begged him to soothe the man; soft touches with equally soft kisses; anything he could do to ensure that the Prince was comfortable and relaxed. “I hope It’s been helpful reconsideration, My Prince.” 

Hongjoong nodded steadily, bringing his legs up onto the couch and falling into his lap. Seonghwa let him and just watched as he adjusted like a content cat. Once the Prince settled, his own hands found placement on the Prince; one tangled in his hair, scritching softly and playing with the bright strands, and the other a comforting weight on the arc of his ribcage. “You’ve been entirely helpful, Doctor.”

The silence between them now was sweet and consolling, the Doctor just listening to the beating of his own heart and the soft sighing of the Prince who he practically expected to start purring at any moment. 

Seonghwa hadn’t expected the Prince to speak so soon after the silence had fallen, but his voice chimed lightly despite the sudden topic, “Seonghwa, do you like kids?” 

Seonghwa’s fingers stuttered where they had begun pressing reassuring circles into the softness of Hongjoong’s body, the Doctor caught entirely off guard by the offhanded inquiry. “Yeah,” He said finally, as gently as he pressed against the Prince, “I adore children. I’ve always wished for some of my own someday in the future.”

“Perfect,” Hongjoong said, shifting onto his back to stare at the Doctor with eager eyes, “There’s not even something for everyone to be worrying over then. I think you’d make a great dad, by the way. You’re very patient and kind, you’d be _perfect_.”

“My Prince,” Seonghwa spoke after swallowing his tongue and the sudden dryness clinging to his mouth that felt like sand. He gave a nervous chuckle as he brushed his fingers over the Prince’s lightly blushing cheeks, “I think it’s awfully early to be thinking of such things.”

“Oh, I agree,” Hongjoong insisted, nuzzling into his thigh with a cheeky smile, “But now that I know you want children, there can be no more complaints about the lineage.”

Seonghwa just nodded, continuing to run his fingers through his hair with mindless movements as he began to think about the question further. He could see raising a family with Hongjoong in the future, the Prince would make an equally wonderful parent; soft-handed and empathetic with good morals and management. He could see Hongjoong making a perfect parent and it made his body feel softer than before, more airy and light. The aspiration of such a future settled into his heart then, a goal for the years to come.

“Does this mean I am forgiven, My Prince?” Seonghwa asked after a second of allowing himself to drift away in his own mind. He eyed the lingering redness around the Prince’s eyes and the ache of his heart returned with the thought of the Prince crying alone in his room in the tower. He was determined to never allow such a travesty to happen again, not as long as he could be around and certainly would never _cause_ it.

“Of course,” Hongjoong said, puffing his lips into a sweet pout that made the Doctor wish to bend down and peck at him. The only thing restraining him was the physical incapability of him bending at such an angle and for a moment he cursed the human body for only being so limber. “I don’t think I could ever stay upset with you for long. You look too _pathetic_ when you’re sad, all mopey-eyed. You naturally look as though I spat in your coffee, but when you’re _actually_ sad, I might as well have stolen your cat and trampled your garden. If I’m going to remain upset with you ever, I must remember to not _look_ at you.”

Seonghwa dug his fingers into a particularly soft and sensitive part of the Prince’s ribs, making him squirm and gasp as he tried to wiggle away. Seonghwa merely pulled him back and continued to vicious tickling, snorting at the Prince’s thrashing. When he decided the Prince had had enough, he scooped him into his chest with his arms, cradling him there snugly. The Prince was significantly smaller when he was held like this, frame feeling so birdlike within his grasp. It was moments like these where the Doctor felt hesitant in holding him. It felt like he was holding something so precious and priceless, yet so delicate and easily broken- the feeling had _nothing_ to do with his princely-hood and everything to do with _him_. Hongjoong sighed dreamily into his neck, as Seonghwa nuzzled into the fluff of his hair. 

It was quiet like this, the two only occasionally making a soft noise as the sun sank below the horizon and left them to themselves. The stars would join them soon, Seonghwa was sure, but they could wait- the stars and the moon could always wait while he let eternity settle beneath his skin. Moments like these felt like eternity; they felt like eons; they felt timeless and motionless and so perfectly secluded into their own space that nothing of the real world ever could touch. It was these moments where Seonghwa felt the most peaceful, most _complete_. 

“So, are you comfortable with this being public, then?” Hongjoong’s voice was small, passive but hopeful, not disturbing the moment in the slightest. “I’d like to start courting you properly.”

“My Prince,” Seonghwa said, the jovial air returning to his tone as he kissed the Prince’s head, “If what you’ve already begun doing hasn’t been your _proper courting_ , then I fear it’s going to be an record-breakingly short courtship.”

Hongjoong wiggled away to climb into his lap, straddling his thighs and grinning down at him with the gleam in his eye that reminded Seonghwa of the ancient jade blades. Seonghwa felt his body tighten at the sudden shift of atmosphere, watching cautiously as the Prince licked his lips. One of Hongjoong’s hands gripped his shoulder for balance and the other cupped his chin. Seonghwa was grateful for the extra support as he began to feel far too light but also felt as though he were being stalked by a predatory cat. It was a paralyzing feeling, the way Hongjoong was watching him, and he wasn’t sure how the mood had shifted so suddenly. “I’m going to woo you until you never wish to leave.” Hongjoong’s voice dropped as he sunk a little closer, bringing a single finger up to trace the curve of his bottom lip, “My bed will be much richer with you in it.” 

Seonghwa jolted, a curse of a denial readying itself on his tongue, the feeling of the Prince’s band pressing into his jaw enough of a reminder. Hongjoong seemed to predict this, however, and pulled away just far enough for Seonghwa to be able to watch as he slipped the simple ring from his finger. Seonghwa’s body was numb as the Prince stole one of his hands and pressed the warm metal into his palm, curling his fingers around it firmly. Seonghwa’s jaw was slack as though his tongue had been removed carefully and he was no longer able to function. 

Seonghwa wasn’t sure how someone with such a sweet smile and easily shy demeanor could suddenly become a pure _menace_. Hongjoong’s grin was heavy when his eyes met Seonghwa’s again, expression foreboding but enticing and it took everything in him not to accept the Prince immediately. His voice was silken when he spoke, eyes lidded, “Allow me to court you properly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed!! :D 
> 
> so the input i need is:
> 
> i'm thinking of writing a sequel/prequel mini-series to this story about the sansang and yungi's dynamic. if you are interested, let me know which i should write first! i really love this au and i'm not really ready to give it up once this one finishes aha
> 
> anyways <3<3<3


	8. Carry Your Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s a ceremony but the crowd’s gone and you’ve got nothing but my crown on. Round two, Round three, give me sequels everytime you open the cathedral_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: *ringing my ancient brass bell* hear ye, hear ye, thee rating hath change! Smut after the -*- so if you’re uncomfy, feel free to skip! There’s nothing too big plotwise that you’ll miss lmao
> 
> this was supposed to be short...................the sex was supposed to be vague.........this fic is almost at 100k..............*head in hands*
> 
> enjoy *sobs*
> 
> [Carry Your Throne](https://open.spotify.com/track/6luhvKibJJNM4P64RLNwgg?si=qH72wFAdRzS5Ube4UQ_hfw) -Jon Bellion

The last of Seonghwa’s weekend had been relaxing, having spent his last free day working in his home garden and attempting to shed the image of the Prince buried knuckle-deep between his legs as he chastised him for being _too needy_. It wasn’t something he _wanted_ to forget, but the memory returned at the worst of times and made him physically weaker every time. He was beginning to understand the Prince held so much power over him, even in the moments where they were apart. 

Seonghwa was lost in his mind when he entered the castle and therefore was startled when an abrupt voice stopped him on his way to his office. Seonghwa spun around at the shout of his name to find Madame Choi striding over the stone floor to him with sharp clicks of her heels on the tiles. She looked cleanly pressed as ever, body framed neatly in a navy pantsuit that tucked her waist and broadened her shoulders. Her hair was down today, an unusual sight, and pin straight as it fell in a single sheet over her back, swaying with her steps. Her eyes gleamed with something intense that Seonghwa almost wished to avoid as she made it to him. He had to physically stop himself from backing away at how intimidating the woman’s presence was in that moment.

“Doctor Park,” She repeated as she closed in on him, his fingers nearly dropping his bag in mild fear. “What kind of advisor do you expect to be if you aren’t even managing the Prince’s calendar?” 

Seonghwa swallowed deeply, attempting to move his heart back where it belonged as he straightened to face the woman fully. He shifted his coat to the arm carrying his bag and shuffled his glasses up his nose to look at her properly. He hoped he didn’t look as daunted as he felt. “I wasn’t aware I needed to balance his calendar. Please, if you would show me what the task is, I will take it over completely. I hope it hasn’t caused any issues in the Prince’s schedule.” 

“No issues other than the Prince doing it on his own.” She bit back, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one hip. She was an intimidating woman, a strong force and a pressuring aura, and Seonghwa preferred not to be on this end of her scorn, though he presumed it would be far from the _last_ time he felt it. Certainly this type of encounter would only happen more frequently if the Prince truly took his courtship public and the thought filled him with dread. It was a price he had to pay, though, to have the Prince to himself, so he grit his nerves and dealt with it. “I found him doing his own scheduling last night. That is _your_ task, Doctor.”

Seonghwa nodded readily bowing his head only slightly, hoping to express sincerity while not appearing cowardly. It was a fine line he was balancing on and he could only pray he was doing it well. “I do apologize. I wasn’t made aware of that as one of my tasks. I will ask the Prince to hand over the responsibility immediately.”

“As you should have already,” She scoffed, voice unimpressed as she assessed him. There was a second where she did nothing but admonish him with her eyes and he felt as though he would start sweating any second by nothing more than the heat of her glare. “Perhaps if the two of you weren’t so distracted constantly, this would not be an issue. You’ve made the Prince overwhelmingly busy since your introduction in his life. It’s becoming a nuisance, Doctor. I do hope you are planning on making yourself an asset and not a hindrance.” 

Seonghwa swallowed again, fingers tightening around his coat and bag, knuckles whitening and palms clammy. He hoped his expression didn’t give away the exposed nerve feeling he got from her words. “Of course, Madame Choi. I’d never wish to be a burden on the Prince.”

“Your relationship is already awfully burdensome,” She said finally, lips puckered and eyes narrowed, “It’s rather distracting for the Prince. Not to mention the additional concerns that come along with it.”

Seonghwa shook his head slowly, chagrin melting the fretfulness in his body. “I don’t think the Prince see’s it as a burden, Madame, but what do you mean _additional concerns_?”

“The Prince’s career should always come first,” She said sternly, voice even as she studied him. It felt as though she were looking for a specific answer in that moment and Seonghwa hoped that his answers would be all the right ones. “He will always be a King before a partner. Is that something you’re prepared to deal with, Doctor?” 

Seonghwa nodded without hesitation, doubtless in his resolve. “It’s exactly as I expected it.”

“And what if he begins to make decisions you disagree with morally? What if he gives you orders you don’t wish to follow? What if he creates policies that you don’t support?” Madame Choi pressed, moving closer. Seonghwa didn’t back away, but he kept his eyes lowered. He refused to back down, to cower away from her, not when he knew that this was all a _test_. His loyalty to Hongjoong was stronger than his fear of the advisor. Madame Choi knew of their relationship, knew that Hongjoong wouldn’t be ceasing it either, and he presumed that this was both a test of him and the final resort of hoping to cut it off before it began. Seonghwa was certain that there was concern of his loyalty, of his readiness, of his ability to handle being involved with royalty on such an intimate level. He had long since expected this treatment, he just hadn’t expected it so soon after the revelation of their intimacy. “What would you do then, Doctor Park?”

“I’d trust him,” Seonghwa answered honestly, voice non-abrasive but resolute as he squared his shoulders and braced himself. “I’d trust that he would be making choices for the better. And if he were to make a decision that I disagreed with and it fell apart, I’d be there to help him fix it- not just as a _partner_ , but as his advisor, as his _friend_. I’d help him solve it.”

Madame Choi seemed to accept that answer, mulling it around like an unattractive vase. She pressed again, voice a gurat over Seonghwa’s throat- threatening and merciless. “ _Advisor, partner, friend_. That’s an awful lot of titles with an awful lot of contact. Surely you’d grow tired of seeing the Prince that often, that closely.” 

“Did you?” Seonghwa countered without missing a breath in between. He wasn’t sure which Royalty he was referencing, but she looked taken aback by the bold statement. He tacked on quickly, voice less aggressive in deliver this time in hopes of soothing over any agitation he may have unintentionally stirred with such a claim. “I don’t think I will. You don’t tire of being around those you love.”

“Do you love him?” She asked, catching his words in her web, using them against him as quickly as he had spoken them. Seonghwa felt cornered, the conversation moving quickly as he attempted to keep his head from spinning in every direction she dragged him. Every topic was connected yet disassociated and it left him feeling foggy and two steps behind. She pressed again, tone slightly urgent, “The Prince, do you love him?” 

“I admire the Prince,” Seonghwa answered carefully after considering his options in the situation he had been placed in. He knew it was dangerous to be speaking so carelessly but he also knew it was equally as dangerous to create entangling lies to escape the truth. “If I were to love him, I would love Hongjoong.”

There was a long silence where they stood together in nothing but the dust-free air of the hallway. Seonghwa felt shivers creeping over him occasionally and he wondered if it was the ghosts of the past wandering the halls and intruding on what wasn’t their concern. There was a single, brief thought that Seonghwa had of Madame Choi one day being one of the ghosts that lingered and fell into what wasn’t _her_ concern. He brushed the thought off easily as he realized that wouldn’t be too far from what her current existence was like.

“Being the Prince should always come first,” She crooned finally, voice not unlike that of a displeased crow’s. She stepped away from him as though she felt that he no longer carried knives openly and Seonghwa felt the metal thread slip from his neck with the distance, no longer feeling his life being threatened. “His duty to his people is far grander than just you.”

“I would never ask for it to be any other way.”

When Seonghwa pushed the door to Hongjoong’s chamber’s open, the sight that greeted him was more shocking than he had anticipated. Hongjoong was sprawled out on his back across the ottoman, hands gripping the legs as Yunho partially kneeled between his thighs and held one leg to his chest in what would’ve been an intimate position would it not have been _them_. Hongjoong’s head tipped backwards with a tight expression as Yunho looked between the two cautiously, clearly looking for any sign of jealousy or resentment. Seonghwa knew he would find none, though he could feel his eyebrow raise at the sight.

“Hello, Doctor,” Hongjoong panted, face scrunching in discomfort as Yunho still didn’t alleviate the pressure. “You’re late. I had to get my Guard to help me stretch. Swimming and marathon season is arriving quickly and I need to be- ow _fuck_.”

Hongjoong was cut off as Yunho pressed his leg further, clearly sensing the relaxed atmosphere, his knee nearly touching his chest as the bottom of his socked foot faced Seonghwa. Seonghwa set his bag and coat by the door, meandering over to sit in the chair and watch with amusement. It wasn’t often he got to be hands off to mock the Prince about his lack of stretching. “You’re out of shape, My Prince. Why haven’t you been stretching?” 

“I’ve been,” Hongjoong paused to breathe heavily, face twisted as he attempted to force himself to relax into the stretch. Yunho just watched with a bleak expression, the Guard entirely unreadable to Seonghwa. The Doctor was certain that the Prince could read him easily, however, glancing between the two as he curled his lip. “I’ve been slightly preoccupied.” 

“Hm,” Seonghwa responded, but left the words hanging in the air. He looked to the peach haired Guard as he leaned a little more into the stretch again, completely dwarfing the Prince. Seonghwa occasionally forgot just how _big_ the Guard was, only being reminded of such when he was put so close to the Prince. Seonghwa couldn’t tell, though, if it was Hongjoong looking _small_ or Yunho looking _big_ that created the illusion of their size difference. He wouldn’t speak such a thought to the Prince, though, no matter how much he wished to. “Yunho be sure you have a grasp on him.” 

Yunho looked at him quizzically, but didn’t get the chance to respond as a knock on the door interrupted them. The three glanced at each other and then the door, unsure of who would be visiting the Prince’s private quarters other than them. Yunho was the one who called the affirmation, voice deeper than normal and slightly commanding- Seonghwa had never heard the peachy Guard sound like _that_. Yunho didn’t often act like a Royal Guard, but sometimes he was reminded exactly _who_ Yunho was. The three sighed when Mingi stepped around the door, stoic face tilting curiously at the sight before him. 

“Hey, Mingi,” Yunho said, pressing the Prince further. Seonghwa watched with a lax smirk as the Prince arched into it slightly to alleviate the sudden stretch. He had previously warned the Prince multiple times not to get behind on his stretching, that he would certainly regret it when he returned to a sport and the Prince had simply assured him he had been doing his stretches. It was apparent he _hadn’t_ been and had actually been lying through his teeth about it. The less professional side of Seonghwa ached to tease him with a well deserved _told you so_ , while the doctoral side of him was concerned about his inactivity. He withheld both due to their present company, both being private conversations to be had. Yunho’s chirpy voice brought Seonghwa back into reality, “What’s up?” 

“Madame Choi said that the Prince was to meet her as soon as he was available.” Mingi glanced between the three and seemed to draw the conclusion that the Prince was decidedly _unavailable_ at the moment. “I told her that I would pass along the message.” 

Yunho nodded, watching as the other Guard leaned against the wall instead of disappearing once again. Seonghwa allowed them the privacy of whatever moment they were sharing and focused back on the struggling Prince. “Breathe, My Prince.” Seonghwa watched the way his chest shook slightly before slowly relaxing and his back fully settling once again. “Madame Choi stopped me this morning.” 

Hongjoong looked up at him then, head tilted back and nose prominent. He looked pretty like that, Seonghwa thought, the expanse of his neck smooth and linear, the curve of his cheekbones and strikingly sharp tip of his nose- he looked artistic. Seonghwa attempted not to become distracted, focusing instead on the slight crease of his forehead and pointedly ignored the interested gaze Yunho passed him. “She seems to know a great deal, My Prince.” 

“Yeah,” He wheezed, his knee finally settling next to his ear while Seonghwa admired the arch of the sole of his foot, “She has a lot of suspicions.”

“Well, I confirmed them.”

“ _What_?” Hongjoong shrieked and wriggled in Yunho’s grasp. The Guard held fast, however, and kept him pinned with a stern look. Seonghwa was grateful then that Yunho was as big as he was, the Guard easily containing the Prince’s movements. Seonghwa nearly winced at the prospect of the Prince being hurt from his careless actions.

“Well,” Seonghwa said, sitting back in the chair finally and relaxing. Hongjoong watched as he smoothed his slacks and eyed his unnaturally calm nature cautiously, “She _knew_. There was no denying her. So, I figured the truth was better than lying.”

“She cannot be cornering you like that,” Hongjoong chastised, face scrunching in both discomfort and frustration as he attempted to relax as he processed this information. “I’ll have to speak with her about that.” 

“No, she was right,” Seonghwa said with a raised eyebrow as he thumbed his chin, “You’ve been with-holding my duties as your advisor. If she hadn’t stopped me I would have never known.” 

Hongjoong’s face flushed brightly as he stuttered over an excuse before Seonghwa waved him off and stood again. He didn’t find it appropriate to continue the discussion with other people in the room, no matter how close they all were. “Please come to my office later and give me a detailed explanation of my _actual_ job duties. I fear if she has to berate me again, neither you nor I will come out of it unscathed and she was entirely unwilling to be of assistance.”

Seonghwa made it to the door with sure steps, stopping only to look at the blonde Guard with a leveled look. Mingi looked at him from behind his specs as though he _knew_ what Seonghwa hadn’t told the Prince, a small smile tugging at his plush lips. There was a silent second in which Seonghwa decided to take the bait. He glanced back to the Prince over his shoulder, seeing him being slowly released from his stretch. Seonghwa waited until he was entirely flat again, legs dangling off the ottoman as Yunho stood up and straightened his pants. Seonghwa hesitated, feeling the butterflies fluttering in his stomach once again, but something told him to _just say it_. Hongjoong had wanted it public, had wanted to court him officially and loudly. Seonghwa swallowed the doubt and pushed himself to the edge.

“Oh and Hongjoong?” The Prince looked up to him as Yunho helped him sit up, all the attention on him as he stood halfway out of the room. Mingi was grinning at him then, knowing and smug for reasons beyond Seonghwa’s knowledge. “She also asked if I loved you.” 

Then, he slipped from the room without waiting for a response, the door closing silently behind him.

\---  
A week after Madame Choi had cornered him and he had asked Hongjoong to train him properly, Seonghwa had just grown accustomed to some of the simpler tasks of advising the Prince. He discovered he had a duty to contact other officials before meetings to see if any would be absent as a form of preemptive roll-call. He also discovered he was the _planner_ of such meetings and would be needing to be the one furthermore scheduling them, something he was less than excited to do. 

“Do you feel prepared for today’s meeting, My Prince?” Seonghwa asked, voice mellow as the two strolled through the labyrinth. The air was dewy but light with a chill only chased away by the feeling of Hongjoong’s knuckles grazing his own as they walked too closely together. The sky was a non-threatening shade of grey, promising warm showers with pale sunbeams breaking through occasionally. It was peaceful and pretty as the two stepped between wild blooming flowers consisting mostly of petite daisies and clovers. Seonghwa enjoyed this time of year, but the labyrinth carried with it a mystic form of energy that he was becoming quickly enamoured with. 

“Yes, I do,” He replied, stepping carefully over a brilliant yellow dandelion. Hongjoong looked at home here amongst the flowers and shrubbery and wet leaves. He looked like he belonged in a garden. Today he had been dressed in a form fitting pastel teal pants and blazer set with a navy button down shirt grounding the look. Seonghwa would have thought that the colors would clash with his hair, though he just felt more like a pop-art canvas than anything. “Do you feel prepared to hold your tongue in this meeting?” 

Seonghwa blushed, looking away shyly. He fiddled with the grey glove he wore that ended at his thin right wrist, the bracelet Hongjoong had bought him glittering in the sunlight on his other hand. The metal matched the grey quarter-sleeved mock-neck he wore nicely and the opal complimented the iridescent glitter of his black pants and eye makeup. He felt both underdressed yet entirely overdressed today, like he would stand out in the meeting but not for his professionalism. Hongjoong didn’t seem to share the sentiment, openly admiring the lines of his body in the simple outfit. Seonghwa avoided the Prince’s gaze now for an entirely different reason, remembering his own unexpected outburst at the last meeting he had attended. “I will not speak out of turn again, Your Highness.” 

“Remember to just tap my back if you wish to discuss something with me.” Hongjoong encouraged softly, without any indication of upset. “I promise if you have something to input, I would always appreciate it grandly.” 

Seonghwa smiled nervously, still fiddling with his glove. “I will, My Prince.” 

“So many formalities,” Hongjoong said with a dismissive way while looking around the tall walls of shrubs surrounding them. “There’s nobody here but us. You’re so nervous already.” 

“The grounds are _crawling_ with politicians.” Seonghwa said with a shudder, looking over his shoulder as though someone were following them. “You might never know who is lurking.” 

Hongjoong grinned wickedly and ducked through an archway hidden inside one of the hedges. Had he not done so, Seonghwa would have never noticed the opening there amongst the branches. Following the Prince he slipped through the rather short entry, feeling the twigs catch on him as he did so bringing forth the concern of scratches or snagging of the expensive fabrics.

The worries dissipated when he righted himself to face the scene of a fountain in front of him. It wasn’t taller than the height of the hedges and no water ran from the carafe held by the woman carved in stone, though it was a beautiful sight nonetheless. 

It was clear, however, that the fountain had been forgotten with time and left to nature’s devices. Algae grew in the cracks and folds and curves of the stone, weather chipping and softening the lines with wind and age. The woman’s face was far less detailed than it surely was at one time, though not any less awe-inspiring as she gazed at the sky. One of her hands was holding a carafe tipped upside down where water surely flowed at some point, the indentation near her feet the area where the water would have fallen and trickled into the basin. There was a wide base surrounding the woman as she stood on the toes of her bare feet, flowers that were almost flat from weathering curling around the ground she stood on. She was dressed in what was realistically supposed to be a thin, gauzy dress, though time had taken those details, too. The circular basin still held the most details with diamond patterning and smooth lines, the pit full of stale and plant covered water. Decaying leaves and flower blossoms littered the greenish surface, the water black from the distance Seonghwa stood at, feeling as though he had stumbled upon the entry to another dimension. 

Despite the less than attractive state of the water, the bench was wide and inviting, clean as though it were the only part taken care of for the time it had been forgotten. Hongjoong looked pretty seated there, polite and eloquent as a Prince should be. Seonghwa had the brief thought of the Prince here, scrubbing the stone by himself. Something about the thought made his chest ache as he could vividly imagine the sight. The lonely Prince and the forgotten statue. Something about it once again made him feel as though there was something metaphorical sitting just outside of his understanding, the hollow feeling in his chest returning.

“I think the castle has forgotten about her,” Hongjoong said quietly, watching as Seonghwa admired the art from the distance, lingering by the entrance like an unsure spirit. “When the hedges grew too tall and she was no longer visible, she stopped getting visitors. I found her by accident; I was chasing a loose rabbit and just happened to crawl in here. Ever since I’ve come here to have picnics or tea. It’s my quiet place.” 

Seonghwa sighed dreamily into the air, making his way over to the Prince as he finally accepted the invitation. He sat on the slightly cold stone despite the nagging in the back of his mind that his outfit was expensive and that _this_ was improper. Hongjoong was once again sharing a piece of himself with the Doctor and he would be damned to reject it. “It’s beautiful, Hongjoong.”

The Prince smiled boldly, fingers tapping an off-beat rhythm into the stone. Seonghwa vaguely noted the lack of the clacking that his ring would usually make. “You’re finally calling me by my name again.”

Seonghwa swallowed heavily as the Prince’s fingers reached out to him and played with his handflower bracelet. There was such an intimacy within the action, one Seonghwa couldn’t fully express. It was heavy in his chest, weighing him down like Hongjoong had fulfilled his promise and stuffed him with stars. The bracelet was already such a bold statement, such a brazen claim, and Seonghwa knew wearing it out -specifically to a _meeting_ \- was a deliberate decision on the Prince’s side. It made him feel dazed and light, airy with such a heady feeling he couldn’t pinpoint. Seonghwa hadn’t felt like this before, not with anyone or anything. Love felt like such a fleeting emotion, something far too passive and broad for what he felt as the Prince’s fingers trailed the skin next to the warm metal, his eyes level with the Doctor’s. Seonghwa swallowed, working his tongue over his teeth before he admitted, “I finally feel as though we are in private, again.”

Hongjoong hummed, fingers still tickling the delicate skin of his hand, drawing invisible and forgettable patterns. It made the Doctor’s eyes flutter, the sensation both underwhelming and overwhelming wrapped into one conflicting feeling. He wasn’t sure how something could feel like _too much_ and _not enough_ all at once.

“What’s the problem of calling me by my name in front of others?” Hongjoong’s voice was low, slightly raspy, and entirely teasing. Seonghwa felt the shudder start at the base of his neck and rattle his brain. He felt like closing his eyes, though the fear of losing eye contact with the Prince felt dangerous and kept him on edge. He felt cornered again, like he was little more than the fox caught in the henhouse.

“Because that can give away far too much,” Seonghwa insisted quietly, voice only catching in his throat slightly, “ _They would know far too much_.”

Hongjoong hummed again, voice lulling and sweet as his eyes drifted down to where his fingers graced Seonghwa’s skin still. He was eyeing the jewelry, Seonghwa knew he was. Hongjoong often admired the visible claim on the man whenever the Doctor wore it. Seonghwa wore it as often as he felt it was safe to, leaving it at home only on the days he spent in the garden so he wouldn’t ruin or lose it. Hongjoong’s eyes always were attached to the piece throughout their time together, eyeing it was such a heavy and visible admiration, such a blatant _pride_ , that Seonghwa was certain anyone who glanced at the two could draw their own conclusions of what it meant. 

Seonghwa swallowed the pebbles in his throat as Hongjoong spoke next, voice scorching in the chilly air, “And what would be the problem with _that_?”

\---  
Hongjoong didn’t _hate_ the monthly diplomacy meetings per se. He just typically found them to be a waste of his and everyone else’s time as the hens gathered to peck at the dirt and squawk at each other. It was pointless, really, as most of the important delegations happened through written letters and formal announcements. Hongjoong entertained the concept, however, knowing these gatherings were more for show and tell than anything. Politicians craved the attention and praise they garnered at doing their job adequately; they craved their peers' presence with faux interest and forced praise. Hongjoong knew this was a sheer silk curtain of an event, nothing more than a preening festival for politicians to flaunt their newly molted feathers. 

The upside, he found, to these events was seeing Yeosang regularly. Ever since the young mayor had been promoted under his Duke father, Hongjoong and he had grown measurably closer than they were growing up- and Hongjoong was ever grateful for it. 

Today, Yeosang looked pretty as he always did in the same way he always did; he was statuesque in the simplest terms, hand-chiseled from granite and diamonds with features smoothed by exceptionally careful hands in the more detailed sense. Yeosang was austere, cold at first sight; similar to the statues in the labyrinth in the dead of winter. His personality, though, was vibrant; entirely made of pastels and goofy actions. He wore a corset today that curved around his pecs in an almost antlerlike shape, entirely made of shining silver and sharp points. The metal curved around his hips and kissed the top of his black slacks and peering between the geometric lines of the bodice was the long sleeved shirt he wore that was patterned in olden paintings. He looked as though he stepped both out of the past and the future in a way that only Yeosang could ever manage. His blonde hair was silvery today and tied into a small ponytail, one that Hongjoong had teased him for initially, a silk silver ribbon falling down his back from the knot. 

The other accessory curving down his back was San, his ever-loyal and ever-bearing Guard. San had always been a surprising and unusual presence, having sprung from seemingly nowhere in Yeosang’s life. The man, from what Hongjoong knew, had been nothing more than a village-folk that had somehow snuck beneath Yeosang’s skin, apparently deep enough that the man allowed him into his staff. It had been surprising the first time Yeosang appeared with the man trailing him, the Guard having been promoted so quickly to such a high and _personal_ rank, but Yeosang had brushed off everyone’s curiosity and insisted it was the man’s incredible martial arts skills that earned him the position. Hongjoong had dropped it, but the Prince knew that Yunho _hadn’t_ , though his own Guard had never shared the extra information with him.

It _hadn’t_ been surprising to Hongjoong at the last meeting, however, to find that their relationship had strayed away from professional. The Prince had seen that for a while, considering the way the Guard never seemed more than a step away from the mayor’s body in a far more intimate way than typical. 

San today was draped over his shoulders again, the mayor completely ignoring his existence as his fingers toyed with one of the points of his corset. San was dressed in brown leather pants that shaped him well, his sheer black shirt tucked into them and exposing his waistline that he flaunted proudly. The shirts top buttons were undone to reveal the high neckline of a lace bodysuit disappearing beneath it and Hongjoong raised an eyebrow at the rather risque outfit. He didn’t mention it, though, and doubted anyone else would as the Guard tended to slip into the shadows and vanish without a word once the meeting began. San also found safety beneath Yeosang’s stoney glare that landed on anyone who looked twice at him, and even if Hongjoong was oblivious to the sky and earth, he would still be able to notice the smugness San would carry at those times. 

He thought the two were rather interesting. 

Seonghwa was engaged in the conversation that Hongjoong had accidentally tuned out, the Doctor speaking with twinkling eyes and wincing grin. Hongjoong adored the times where he smiled in full to the point where his cheeks curved and he blinked roughly, mouth boxy and wide. Those smiles created fireflies in his chest and sent his knees tapping together as he attempted to expel the devastating emotions. It was moments like those that he could imagine forever, the times where he could see the two of them creating _something_ together. Hongjoong knew he had a kingdom readily available to him, but something in Seonghwa’s smile said _build a home_.

“...And so I think I’m building a strawberry patch.” Hongjoong caught onto the last of Seonghwa’s words as Yeosang and San nodded enthusiastically. 

“If you build it prettily enough, fairies will come.” Hongjoong said with a small wink, Seonghwa’s attention turning to him. Hongjoong thought for a moment that Seonghwa’s twinkle would have died as he moved onto another topic, almost regretting speaking. The shine living in his eyes only seemed to grow when his attention landed back on the Prince, however, and it made him feel inexplicably shier. “Fairies like strawberries, after all.” 

Seonghwa hummed a sweet melody for a second before shrugging. “I think my garden has enough magic in it.”

San made an awful noise caught somewhere between a gag and a choke, causing Yeosang to shove him off of him with a displeased curse. Hongjoong ignored the two and their bickering as he smiled sweetly up at the Doctor. “Anyways, you lovesick bird,” San said, voice stale and grating after finally giving up on repositioning himself over the mayor. He crossed his arms indignantly, clearly trying to save face from the rejection and changed the topic, “Are you coming to Wooyoung’s gala?” 

Hongjoong tilted his head and thought for a second before looking to Seonghwa. The Doctor showed no signs of rejection nor acceptance, so Hongjoong looked back to Yeosang to make the decision, “I think we can make it. It’s the first week of March, correct?” 

“Yeah,” Yeosang confirmed while San mouthed the word _we_ multiple times, the group pointedly ignoring him. “Be sure Yunho and Mingi come as well! But not as Guards, as guests! It’s around Yunho’s birthday, he’s going to love it.” 

“It’s also around Seonghwa’s,” Hongjoong said before he could stop himself, unsure of why that felt like a detail he needed to share. His chest warmed as the trio eyed him with vastly different expressions. San carried an air of dangerous intrigue as his foxy eyes narrowed on the Prince, Yeosang’s eyes coquettishly wide with surprise, and Seonghwa- Seonghwa looked in _awe_.

“My Prince,” He said softly, voice barely audible amongst the chatter of the room, but Hongjoong swore he was shouting. “I don’t remember telling you my birthday.” 

“You didn’t really,” Hongjoong said, looking away from all three and to the horseshoe shaped table instead, letting the sound of the milling crowd absorb some of his anxiety as he tried to pry himself out of the moment. His fingers played shyly with the pocket of his blazer, cheeks far too warm. “I saw it on your calender.” 

“I didn’t write it on my wor- _oh_.” Seonghwa looked away quickly, the moment feeling suddenly private for the far too public setting. The ramifications had already set in, though, and San was grinning wickedly at the two of them. 

“Well, Wooyoung insists on it being a masquerade, so dress appropriately.” Yeosang said with a cacographic undertone, entirely illegible and incomprehensible. Hongjoong swore there was something hidden in his words and they way they lilted, something he was supposed to grasp from the comment, though it was alluding him only barely. 

The group was startled when two politicians across the room had begun a bickering match that slowly escalated in volume and passion, the Guards rushing to separate the two with forceful movements.

Hongjoong sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose and counting down silently, not truly wishing to deal with the situation at hand. He tried to ignore the scuffling noises as the voices grew louder as they were separated to continue the argument. Hongjoong heard the door open and the addition of Mingi and Yunho’s voices were enough to calm his nerves. He knew the two would take care of it quickly and efficiently without problem. When he finally looked up, Seonghwa was looking at him with something akin to pity, but far more devoted and less condescending. He just prayed silently that the meeting would pass quickly.

Seonghwa was frustrated. The meeting was going smoothly: every request had been quick and easy to handle, every objection or interjection passing with ease. It should’ve been something Seonghwa found pride in, the way his Prince was conducting the meeting so smoothly without the assistance of his seniors. Seonghwa had been surprised when the Queen hadn’t arrived for the meeting, Madame Choi had simply entered and said that the Prince would be conducting the council that day- she was nothing more than an observer. Seonghwa had the nagging feeling that Hongjoong’s inauguration was coming closer and closer, the date undecided but arriving quickly. Hongjoong had taken the role easily, directing the conversation effectively with ease. It was amazing, in all of Seonghwa’s honesty, though he still found himself _frustrated_.

The tangled emotion stemmed from the way that the Prince seemed to suddenly fill into the position he had been handed with such an effortless nature. He stood tall, shoulders squared and back straight, with his chin tilted only slightly. He looked regal, but he carried himself like he was _everything_. When he spoke, it was without fault, without hitch; he spoke as though his words were final and undebatable, though he welcomed conversation when appropriate. There was such a natural power to him, a natural leader falling into the role that was destined. 

It made Seonghwa _ache_. He found little interest in these meetings, his mind straying to thoughts full of nothing but the Prince and he found himself swooning in his own mind. When bored, Seonghwa’s brain often created realms unknown to reality and today it seemed as though he were stuck on the ways the Prince had begun unravelling him.

The problem was that Hongjoong displayed the same show of power when coercing the Doctor into horribly illicit acts. When his coy smiles and undeniable fingers were no longer enough, his voice would drop and _demand_ compliance- one or the other would always have the Doctor seated and writhing within moments. Seonghwa attempted to ignore the fact that the tone he used in the meeting was _identical_ despite the lack of viscous honey that always accompanied it when it was directed at him. 

Seonghwa wasn’t sure why it affected him so greatly, Hongjoong’s power. He was so assertive with the things he wanted, though he never took through force. He gained his power through effort, respect, and patience- so much _patience_. 

Seonghwa thought of the ways that his tongue would move and curl in slow, patient motions- coaxing, _asking_. 

His mind was beginning to become an issue, one visible to others as San leaned over from his spot on the wall and hissed at him, “What’s your problem, Hwa? You’re all fidgety.”

Seonghwa gulped, feeling the tightness in his throat and chest and shrugged, attempting to appear casual, “It’s nothing. I’m just thinking a lot.”

San nodded, seeming to accept that answer. The two were silent for a moment, listening to a delegate from a small town down the river from the capital explain the desperate need for updated street plans. Seonghwa thought he had dropped the conversation all together, feeling his shoulders relaxing from the stress he had put himself through with his own thoughts. He was startled out of his skin when the Guard leaned back in and whispered, far too close for comfort, “He’s not wearing his ring anymore.” 

Seonghwa gasped, head whipping to stare at the Guard. There was an immediate regret within his action as he hoped it would go unnoticed by the group. He didn’t wish to embarrass the Prince once again in front of the party of delegates. When he felt like he was in the clear, as no one had looked to him or chastised him, he turned to glare at the Guard, eyes narrowed and fixated, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“His purity ring,” San supplied, dimples creasing his cheeks teasingly. There was an undeniable sharpness to his smile, one that felt not unlike the edge of a dull blade dragging across his skin. San often reminded him of something just barely safe, only on the edge of _dangerous_. “And _you_ , dear, are wearing an opal bracelet. _Love and passion and desire_. All those fun traits. You sure you don’t know what I’m talking about?” 

Seonghwa tucked the bracelet behind his leg with belated discretion. San grinned further at the movement as Seonghwa looked away. “I don’t have the slightest clue.” 

San opened his mouth to continue but the next politician caught the room's entire attention, the Guard’s jaw snapping shut. “I’m here to restate my proposal.” 

Seonghwa remembered this man, the pompous one who had looked down at the Prince from a horse too high for him to be on. He looked more humble today, less prideful and more mindful, as the Prince’s gaze landed on him. Hongjoong didn’t look any more or less tense than he had before the man’s turn. He looked as though the man’s presence did nothing to distract him from the moment at hand. Seonghwa felt pride bubbling in his chest at the Prince’s control, at his maturity. 

“Allow me to hear it, Chancellor.” The Prince’s voice was even and professional as it had been all evening, treating the Chancellor with the same tone he had done so for everyone else that spoke.

“There is a plot of land on the edge of my city that I would like to attain for government use.” The Chancellor looked around, but more specifically away from the Prince. His gaze fell onto Seonghwa, the Doctor standing at attention behind the Prince’s shoulders. There was an odd second that passed while the two held eye contact, the Chancellor assessing him. In the end, he looked away first, eyes slightly downcast as he continued addressing the Prince with a tone that Seonghwa appreciated far more, “I would like to mine the iron deposit there and then turn the land into a development. The benefits I see from this would be the revenue from the iron, the influx of jobs, and the future housing developments.”

Hongjoong nodded, thumbing his chin with plastic contemplation. Hongjoong had already conceived his answer, having spoken it over with Seonghwa prior to the meeting. Still, he gave for a pause as though he needed it and Seonghwa could taste the slight bit of spite and revenge within the action as he kept the man on edge. When he continued, his voice was eloquent and commanding, though genuine as ever, “Since we discussed this vaguely last meeting, I would like to begin by thanking you for the clearer statement this time around. With that having been said, I am prepared to allow you to do such _only_ with the family’s written consent with proper and adequate compensation. You may offer to buy the plot from them, but you will be responsible for finding them a new placement along with an appropriate payment for the size of land you are buying.”

“But, Your Highness-” He started, the Prince waving his hand to stop him. Seonghwa felt incredibly hot in that moment, like his skin was tingling with embers from a raging bonfire that the Prince only just fanned again. The dismissive gesture, the immediate response, the confidence- Seonghwa thought it all looked good on the Prince. He wore the commanding title _stunningly_.

“No,” Hongjoong said, voice firm and loud in the silence of the room. There was a finality to his words, one that said the topic was over. “I have given you your options. Drop the matter entirely or compensat the family. Additionally, If they decline you, you are to leave them alone, regardless, Chancellor. These are your orders.”

Seonghwa watched as the two stared at each other, the fire of Hongjoong’s hazel eyes level with the mans. Seonghwa’s eyes drifted over to Madame Choi’s who was watching intently from her seat, a glow of pride surrounding her. Seonghwa could tell she had the same thought as he had in that moment: Hongjoong truly would make a fine King.

-*-  
No matter how stunning the Prince looked in his regalware, dresses and jewels alike, Seonghwa thought that the most incomparably beautiful sight of the Prince was like this; standing in front of the landscape of his Kingdom, features outlined in waning sunlight that clung to the last hope of day, the faded colors of the world completely dulled by the blush in his cheeks. The Doctor thought he looked angelic like this, a star having fallen to earth, one that he had dragged home and polished from impurities. Seonghwa understood the allure of the city’s rock shop now, understood the appeal of seeing such precious things handled as delicately as they deserved. 

The two had found themselves once again wrapped in the velveteen privacy of his quarters, the night encroaching on the day just beyond the walls. Hongjoong’s suit jacket had been dropped on entry, the two of them shedding their shoes at the entrance as well. Seonghwa wasn’t sure how the two had ended up by the window, but the contact had been initiated when Hongjoong slunk into his chest like a dejected cat. With a tired sigh, the Doctor had curled around him and allowed their bodies to sway with a song created solely by the sound of their hearts and murmured words. 

“You did well today, My Prince,” Seonghwa said softly into his hair, hoping the pride he felt for the man was portrayed with his words. Seonghwa didn’t think there were enough words in his vocabulary to fully express to the Prince how he felt, but he hoped that was a start. “You will make a fine King.”

Hongjoong huffed, the sound not irritated nor tired, but more amused than anything. It colored the air with something light, lighter than what it had been, and Seonghwa felt the tension melting from both of them. “My mother said the same thing,” He murmured, nose brushing against Seonghwa’s chest, his words prickling his skin. “She thinks I’ll make a perfect leader.”

Seonghwa shrugged only slightly, nuzzling his head once again. Without his heels, the Prince was the perfect height for him to curl into as he did. Holding Hongjoong like this, Seonghwa felt soothed- he couldn’t say he felt _whole_ , because he refused to believe he was anything less than a _whole_ on his own, but he felt _better_ when he was close with the Prince like this. When they moved together, quietly in sync, he felt like everything unimportant melted away- everything that wasn’t the feeling of Hongjoong breathing and swaying and _being there_. It felt better than any dream he could have conjured. “She is correct, Your Highness.” 

“As long as that is your opinion,” Hongjoong said quietly, looking up at him with glassy jade eyes, “I’ll accept it only then.”

Seonghwa allowed curious fingers to dance across skin he was both familiar and unfamiliar with, tracing the curves of the Prince’s cheekbones and jawline. He knew this shape by memory now though every time his fingers were brave enough to not shy away, it felt like the first. The Prince was ever the same and ever new, always consistent but always changing. Seonghwa felt like eternity was before them, yet like they had such little time as well. It was overwhelming, sometimes, the feelings he gained from the Prince. There was such a sense of urgent leisure in every moment they shared that Seonghwa once again thought that nothing ever truly existed beyond what he could experience immediately. 

They didn’t share another word, not truly, not in the traditional sense- Hongjoong spoke with the raise of his chin and the tilt of his head and Seonghwa swallowed his words. The kiss was as languid as the swaying, simply enjoying the closeness of the moment they had fallen into. The hand still on Hongjoong’s waist gripped tighter, Seonghwa’s fingers dipping into the firm flesh there and clung to him as though one or the other would dissipate without contact. The world was silent to them, for them, allowing only _them_ to exist. Seonghwa was so often lost in his thoughts when he was in moments like this, though now there was a part of him grounded in reality; the part of him that _adored_ Hongjoong. The world was silent, but Seonghwa’s mind was full.

When the Prince pulled away and brought them both back into the space they physically occupied, Hongjoong was surprised to see it was raining. The sky had darkened with more than dusk and the clouds from the afternoon opened up to shed pieces of the heavens onto the earth. Spring rains were some of his favorites, bringing with them blossoming flowers and thawing hearts. He often thought that spring was the season of love and he now thought it was perfectly accurate. 

“Stay here,” He said, voice barely above a whisper, melting into the sounds of the rain on his bedroom window. He didn’t want the Doctor to leave, not when the world felt like this- he didn’t want to be without _this_. “Please, stay here.” 

Seonghwa nodded without question, immediately agreeing to whatever the Prince asked. Hongjoong felt his chest warm with the same emotion he often felt around him, the knowledge that the Doctor trusted him with _everything_ was enough to send his heart into a comfortable frenzy once again. “Of course, My Prince.”

Hongjoong backed away with a slight difficulty, like dull magnets clinging to one another. When Seonghwa’s hands finally dropped he put only a slight distance between the two, feeling the nerves beginning to chase up his throat. The distance felt like far too much to Hongjoong, the desire to curl back in his arms immediate. He resisted, holding strong as he watched the Doctor do the same and lick his lips. “Stay.” 

Seonghwa watched in slight befuddlement as the Prince disappeared into his bathroom. Hongjoong had moments like those, where he left the Doctor in a whirlwind, knowing that he could do whatever he wanted and the Doctor would never break his promise. The Prince was elusive occasionally, wiggling and avoidant, but not in a manner that felt like rejection. Hongjoong liked the air of mystery and liked to keep Seonghwa on his toes, waiting to see what would happen next. Seonghwa couldn’t say that he minded too much. 

Seonghwa was startled from his mind when he heard the shower running, the sound muffled but still louder than that of the rain and his thoughts. Curiosity curled in him, but he took the opportunity to move to the Prince’s workspace and inspect what artwork he had been focusing on as of late. On the desk was a pile of loose leaf parchment with charcoal pencils sat on and around them with varying levels of sharpness. He began to sift through the sketches drawn on off-white parchment, mindful of the easily smudged medium. Such beautiful pieces of artwork, Seonghwa thought, done with such a beautiful perspective of the world. Butterflies and garden flowers. A cat sleeping in a flowerbed. A man seated in a borrowed office at a cluttered desk, only one spot on the edge empty. Seonghwa smiled down at the drawings, at the things that Hongjoong had felt important enough to immortalize. The feeling in his chest was indescribable, though it felt like a rose garden had bloomed between the creases and hollows of his ribcage. Hongjoong truly was one of the greatest wonders, he thought.

When Hongjoong stepped from the bathroom, he found the Doctor hovering over his desk, admiring the sketchings he had yet to put away. There was a serene expression on his face, clouded with something deeper, something devotional. He looked at the simple parchment like it was long-lost scriptures to be cherished and revered. It made Hongjoong’s heart thump heavily in his chest, losing the nerves with every passing second. Seonghwa no longer made him stuttering and nervous, though the feeling was replaced by a paralyzing veneration. “Seonghwa,” He spoke softly, watching the Doctor’s head whip up in surprise. He smiled so fondly, so awe-filled, that Hongjoong felt as though he could melt into nothing but gold and dust. “Do you like them?” 

“How often do you sketch our life?” He asked with a chuckle when the Prince was within arms reach. Almost instinctively, the Doctor wrapped his arm around the Prince and tugged him closer, the two barely apart. Hongjoong’s hands found his shirt as he played with the hem of the neckline coyly. 

“Nowadays it seems to be my favorite inspiration for art,” It was a soft admission, one that he knew Seonghwa already _knew_ , but he wanted to confirm the Doctor’s suspicions. He wanted Seonghwa to know just how much he valued their time together. He wanted the man to know that _this_ was the most precious thing in his life. “I draw moments I feel like I should never forget, ones I wish to hold onto the memory of for longer than my mind would allow. I’m afraid of forgetting, if I’m honest. I don’t wish to forget.”

There was a nostalgia in his words, ones that tasted like the morning that Seonghwa had echoed that same thought. Seonghwa’s throat was tight, mouth dry as he watched the remaining water drip from the Prince’s towel-dried hair, the shade of his hair closer to blood while damp. The collar of his oversized white tee shirt was wet, clinging to the skin there and appearing a pale color from the transparency. Hongjoong’s skin was slightly flushed from the shower and his eyes were wide with something devastatingly ardor, something that had birds singing in Seonghwa’s chest. He wished to kiss the Prince then and so he did, without hesitation. Once again he found the Prince’s petal shaped lips and swallowed the emotions that dripped from the Prince along with the scent of strawberries and lemon. Hongjoong’s fingers gripped his shirt tighter, dragging the Doctor closer to him as though they could truly become one. 

Seonghwa wasn’t sure how long they kissed like that, chasing and prying and pleading all alike, but when he pulled away to rest his forehead against the Prince’s, the room was dark save for the yellowish lighting coming from the bathroom, and the rain had yet to cease. “I need to be going, Prince.” He said softly, breath fanning over the Prince’s face and causing his long eyelashes to flutter softly, “I need to go home.”

“Stay with me,” Hongjoong pleaded, knuckles whitening in his shirt. There was something in his tone, something not quite desperate but almost yearning and forlorn. It was a soft pallor of an emotion, easily overtaken, easily missed, easy trampled and ruined. “Stay with me.” 

Seonghwa pressed a kiss to his forehead and took a small step back, hoping to be as gentle as he could with his exit. He couldn’t stay, not when he felt like this, not when the Prince looked like this. “I will eventually, My Prince.” Seonghwa watched as the Prince’s expression became unreadable, a veil of silk and lace dropping over his face. “Tonight, I need to go home.”

The Prince contemplated for a moment in silence before dropping his hold on Seonghwa and stepping away as well. The Doctor’s arms swung limply by his side, the distance already feeling _wrong, wrong, wrong_. He didn’t want that gap between them, every ounce of his being begging him to _close it again_. He didn’t. “Tuck me in before you go, at least.” 

The compromise seemed fair, Seonghwa thought, and allowed the Prince to lead him to his bed with nothing more than his words. As they walked to the bed, Seonghwa was finally able to assess the state of the Prince- the shirt he wore rode down to his thighs, the ends of his underwear only just peaking out, the entirety of his smooth legs visible beyond that. The sight made him stutter in his walk, thankful the Prince’s back was turned so he couldn’t mock him for such a silly reaction to such a plain sight. Seonghwa wondered briefly, though, if anything about the Prince was _plain_. 

When they stopped at the bed, Hongjoong turned to face Seonghwa once again. He was a clean slate with no distinguishable emotion to be found, but Seonghwa felt troubled at the expression now. It seemed the Prince only needed a second to make a decision because as Seonghwa went to speak, the Prince grabbed him by his shoulders. With an alarming amount of strength, he pulled the Doctor onto the bed, tossing him there as though he weighed nothing. Seonghwa fell with what he thought to be a rather unattractive state: clumsily with a shriek. “My Prince,” He said, low in his chest, with narrowed eyes as he righted himself on the bed. He ignored his now askew clothes in favor of just glowering at the Prince. “I need to leave.” 

“No,” Hongjoong said, just as low but with far more command behind his words, “You don’t.”

Seonghwa swallowed thickly as the Prince crawled into his lap, his eyes fluttering as the Prince rubbed his nose softly along the line of his own. It was such a darling motion, so contrasting to the way he had handled him before. The night was becoming syrupy in his veins, lulling his movements and dulling his inhibitions. Seonghwa’s hands automatically found his waist, holding him close despite his denials. “You are far too tempting, My Prince. It’s becoming harder and harder to resist you with every day.”

“Then give in.” With such a simple statement, Hongjoong found his plush mouth once again and lost himself there. Hongjoong thought that he could kiss the Doctor for _hours_. He was soft and gentle and giving, but firm and passionate and tantalizing. It was everything he had never expected from kissing someone; he had always presumed that there could never be anything actually _substantial_ about kissing. He had thought that everything was an exaggeration, but he supposed that nothing could compare to kissing _Seonghwa_. Hongjoong fully doubted that he would ever feel _this_ with anyone else- had never truly _wanted_ to feel this with anyone else. Before Seonghwa he had been uninterested in others, always hoping to make friends rather than lovers. Seonghwa had been different. Seonghwa had _always_ been different. 

The Doctor’s voice was always sonorous in moments like these, breathy and light against his skin as he seemed to chase the same feeling Hongjoong did. When the Prince dropped his hips slightly, rocking forward only _just_ , he swallowed the sound that escaped the other man immediately. Seonghwa’s fingers tightened in the Prince’s sides as he continued the gentle movement, the two wrapped entirely in the silk Hongjoong had woven into them. Only by the time the Doctor was fully hard did Hongjoong feel satisfied at his work. He pulled away to kiss at his mouth with short pecks, leaving them both desiring _more_. “ _Stay with me_.”

Seonghwa’s resolve was slipping, the Prince always knowing how to work himself just beneath his skin. Seonghwa groaned as his teeth dragged across the tendons of his strained neck, trailing the valleys and arches and curves. He whimpered when he bit at a spot near his ear, the area far too tender for the pressure he applied. “I can’t,” He rasped, fingers clenching at the softness of his waist, attempting to ground himself using the exact cause of his lack of control. “I need to _go home_.” 

There was no conviction to his words and even less resistance came when the Prince’s fingers slid beneath his clothing at his waist. Hongjoong’s fingers trailed up his chest, dragging the blouse with them, until it bunched at his neck and then he was strippipng him of his top entirely. Seonghwa didn’t fight it, he _couldn’t_ fight it. He allowed the Prince to rid him of his shirt and his inhibitions. “ _You’re staying_.”

Seonghwa cracked. He gripped the Prince’s waist in a grip far firmer than before and rolled them over swiftly. He pinned the Prince there, holding him to the bed with no force in his grasp now, instead just admiring the complacency he received. The Prince allowed him to hold him down, staring up at him with dark eyes and darker intentions. The Doctor gritted his teeth against the all encompassing need to savor every inch of the body beneath him, and shook his head. “You are positively _delicious_ , My Prince.”

“Then feast,” He provoked, a smirk tugging his lips and his eyebrow crooking. 

Seonghwa shouldn’t have thought the idea to be so inviting, but found himself lost in the Prince once again, tongue slipping between petal shaped lips and exploring all too familiarly. Hongjoong was completely pliant now, relaxed entirely in his grasp, _inviting_. Seonghwa swallowed every sound, breath, and movement the Prince gave him with vigor. When the Prince’s leg tented and his thigh bumped against the Doctor’s hip, he grasped it with one arm, using his other to hold himself up on his elbow. The Prince clung to him with desperate fingers, his nails scratching over the surface of his bare shoulders with slightly painful stripes. Seonghwa wondered how mottled his skin would be by morning, how many physical memories would remain, tangible, touchable. He nipped at the Prince’s lips with the thought, hoping to leave him as messy as he would undoubtedly be. He wanted the Prince to awaken in the morning and still feel every graze of his teeth, every stroke of his fingers, every brush of skin- he wanted it to be as etched into Hongjoong’s mind as it would be his.

When the Doctor ground his hips downwards, he felt the Prince jerk in his hold, his body quaking with the sudden pressure. Seonghwa repeated the motion several more times, body waving languidly as the Prince gasped into his mouth with every move. Slowly, the Doctor parted their lips, kissing a trail over the expanse of his neck instead, his thighs still cradling one of Hongjoong’s. He stopped occasionally along the perfect expanse of skin, to bite and nibble and suck faint red marks there that would bruise by morning. He glanced at the bracelet still on his hand, twinkling in the dim light from the open bathroom door, feeling his heart thump roughly in his chest. _Claims_. All physical claims. When he bit a tad bit harsher at the junction of his neck and chest, Hongjoong began wriggling, sounding as though he were about to cry in response to the ceaseless stimulation.

When Seonghwa slipped fully between his legs, the Prince looked at him teary eyed. “Seonghwa,” He said softly, the Doctor immediately perking back up to him. There was a nervousness in Seonghwa that he was taking it too far, but the Prince merely stretched to reach over to his nightstand. He fussed with the drawer for a moment and the awkward angle, before making a soft noise of confirmation and withdrew to hand him the bottle of oil. Seonghwa distantly noted that he hadn’t closed the drawer, but he wasn’t going to let the Prince wiggle away to do so. “You’ll need it.” 

Seonghwa picked it up from the Prince’s palm wordlessly, still processing the moment they were in, accepting his consent easily. Seonghwa hesitated momentarily, but with the way Hongjoong was staring at him, the pause didn’t last long. He reached with careful fingers underneath the Prince’s shirt and to the waistband of his underwear, still watching for any sign that he was doing something _wrong_. When the Prince didn’t stop him, he slid the shorts from beneath his shirt, watching the way they slid down the curves of his thighs and calves with rapt attention. He sat back on his heels, simply watching the Prince with an adoring look, admiring the shape of his body. His modesty was still safe by the cover of the shirt, but Hongjoong’s flushed cheeks and expectant look made him scoot closer as he lubed his fingers. 

Hongjoong watched on bated and expectant breath as the Doctor slipped back down onto his belly, watching him still for any signs of distress. Hongjoong knew he would not find one, but felt a swooning kind of warmth travel through him at the attentive care Seonghwa was giving him. He knew he could trust the Doctor with everything, the man having been taking care of him in every way possible for what felt like a lifetime already. He had always been so perfectly polite and respectful. Hongjoong knew he could trust him with _everything_. He gasped as his slick fingers found their way between his thighs and danced around intimate areas, the shyness returning as sensitivity took over. It was an odd sensation to have someone else be dragging wetness around, but it wasn’t _unpleasant_. Seonghwa waited, fingers stalling as the two sat quietly for a second, giving each other time to back away if either wished. Neither did. 

Seonghwa’s first finger slipped into the silky body with far too little resistance, a blush coating the Prince’s cheeks as he tried to maintain eye contact. Seonghwa had never been able to return the moments that Hongjoong had been providing him; there was always one reason or another that the two were pried apart and Hongjoong insisted that he always wished to focus on the Doctor. The curiosity ebbed at him with the lack of resistance, eyebrows raising at the Prince’s shy expression. “When-”

“Shower.” Hongjoong sighed, body relaxing as his thighs quivered slightly. 

Seonghwa nodded, sliding his finger in further as the Prince finally looked away. He pressed a warm kiss to the soft skin of his thigh as he eased in until he was knuckle deep in the panting Prince. When he spoke, it was less to the Prince and more to himself, voicing his realization. “So that’s what you were doing.”

Hongjoong didn’t get the chance to respond, the Doctor crooking his finger instead. Seonghwa took his time on the Prince, working him over gently with precise movements that turned his body to little more than mush. The Prince was panting by the time he had three fingers curled in him, his knees raised as they shook beside the Doctor’s head with an effort to keep from snapping shut at the sensation. Seonghwa had placed several small hickies along the flawless skin, marking him privately with blunt teeth and a curious tongue. Something possessive in him encouraged it, whispered to him _claim him, mark him, let it be known he’s yours_ and Hongjoong’s soft keens only spurred him on further. Hongjoong had begun squirming more than before and Seonghwa used his free hand to raise his shirt to his belly button, the Prince’s own claim on him catching the lighting, the opals shining. 

Modesty once again overcame the Prince at the motion, his thighs instinctively trying to close to hide himself, his eyes squeezing shut. Seonghwa’s body kept his legs from doing so, a physical blockade, keeping him open. The Prince whined softly at the exposure, but didn’t stop him, clenching around his fingers instead. It was jelly-inducing; the sight of the Doctor holding him open with his fingers still buried within him and his bracelet gleaming against his shirt. He understood why sex was such a coveted act now. He watched as Seonghwa seemed to contemplate something before he ducked down, lapping at the pearly precum collecting at his tip. Hongjoong scrambled immediately, hands grasping for something to hold onto- _anything_ \- at the sensation. When he found nothing to brace himself, he only squeezed his eyes shut, thighs trembling as Seonghwa moved him into his mouth slowly. His fingers dug into the mattress by his hip and head, praying that he didn’t implode on himself before the night was over.

Hongjoong understood then why Seonghwa got so demanding so fast, when he held the Doctor between his lips. His mouth was caught somewhere between heaven and hell and he felt like his soul had finally ascended. His mouth was silky, lips plump and warm and wrapped entirely around him. Everything was _perfect_.

“Wait,” Hongjoong pleaded, fingers digging into the sheets and his own hair, the sensations becoming _too much_ quickly. “Wait-Wait-Wait-”

Seonghwa didn’t wait.

As quickly as the tension built, it dissipated. Seonghwa’s fingers curled upwards against the sensitive spot inside of him and pressed without mercy, massaging gently. That action combined with the light, warm suction he had yet to cease, Hongjoong was left to the mercy of his body as he came, moaning almost silently into the rainy night.

Seonghwa had never liked the taste nor the feeling of swallowing, but as he lost himself in the way the Prince sounded and struggled to process the sensations running through him, he couldn’t convince himself to pull away. Continuing to lap at him until his body lost its tension and became nothing more than a twitching mess, Seonghwa felt oddly _accomplished_. The Prince was flushed the color of peaches and cherry blossoms, lips bitten and eyes wet. He looked exquisite and the Doctor was beginning to understand why the Prince enjoyed losing himself between his legs so often. The view from where he lay was of a heavenly body surrounded by the broken pieces of heaven and earth, the remnants of what he had shattered to earn the right. Seonghwa could grow addicted to this, he thought, could drink heaven’s nectar far more often.

When Seonghwa began to pull away, however, the Prince’s fingers dropped the sheets and quickly gripped his hair, holding him still. There was a second where Hongjoong only breathed raggedly, clinging to the Doctor as though he were the only thing keeping him from floating away to join the clouds. “N-Not done,” He managed to stutter out after a long moment, through clenched teeth and skewed expression. The heavy lilt of his voice combined with the stunning visual in front of him had Seonghwa groaning around where he still remained in his mouth and grinding into the sheets. “D-Don’t leave yet.”

Seonghwa sighed and slid off of him slowly, the Prince allowing him after his plea had been heard. To distract himself from the tingling and oddly filmly texture that remained in his mouth and Hongjoong from his concerns, Seonghwa pressed soft, open mouth kisses to the juncture of his hip and thigh and sighed once more against the supple skin. Hongjoong let out a strangled noise caught somewhere between a mewl and a breath, sounding vaporous and cloudy, nothing but mist and morning dew. “I won’t leave.”

Seonghwa felt the way he clenched around the fingers he had yet to withdraw, his body responding before he had verbally. It made him wiggle them slightly in response, testing the waters that had barely yet settled. Hongjoong’s hips jerked into the motion, eyes opening as Seonghwa leaned up to leer over top of him, caging him to the bed with a comforting presence. He watched as he continued to work the Prince through the left over sensitivity, feeling the way he quivered and shuddered with every stroke and press and curve and curl. 

Seonghwa admired the way the Prince arche and pleaded and slid against his sheets with the gentle thrusting. The gold of the bed only accentuated the cream tone of his skin and the brightness of his blush, his nearly dry and tousled hair fiery against the fabric. Seonghwa worried occasionally he would rip the delicate fabric, but Hongjoong’s mind was far from that concern, nails clawing unforgivingly at the slippery surface. Seonghwa repositioned himself to be supported by his palm by the Prince’s ear, using his still clothed thighs to pry the Prince further apart.

Hongjoong vaguely registered the sensation of fabric grinding against his overly-sensitive inner thighs and his eyes fell open- he couldn’t recall when they had _closed_. The sight of Seonghwa, still half clothed and looking enraptured between his legs was enough to make Hongjoong feel as though he had ascended to another plane, one where they were truly only engrossed in nothing except the other. 

“Fuck me.” The words fell from his lips and made Seonghwa freeze entirely. The Prince swallowed, feeling inanely shy at the demand, but he doubled down in his reserve and knotted his fingers in the sheets once again to steel himself. “You’re not allowed to leave until you do.” 

Seonghwa seemed to ponder that for a moment and briefly, Hongjoong wondered if he had overstepped. When the silence felt drawn and gnawing, Hongjoong opened his mouth to speak but his words fell into a whimper as Seonghwa left him empty. The mauve haired Doctor stared at him with an expression entirely unreadable for a second before the corner of his lips curled up only slightly and Hongjoong once again felt like he was being looked down on in the mind-numbing way only Seonghwa could accomplish. His eyelids drooped as he studied the undoubtedly wrecked looking Prince, fingers trailing light patterns over his ticklish thighs and making him squirm slightly. “Is that an order, Your Highness?” 

Hongjoong groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling as though he were tempting a demon. “I can certainly make it one.”

“And just how would you punish me, Your Highness?” Seonghwa taunted, voice sounding slightly wrecked- Hongjoong couldn’t tell if it was the head or his own arousal, but it made his stomach clench once again. With his eyes closed, Hongjoong zeroed in on the sound of his pants being undone, the shifting of his body against his thighs as he worked the fabric off. Seonghwa had given in to his request so easily and Hongjoong felt a tremble run through his form at that. “Would you tell the Guards and have me dragged away?” 

“I’d have you locked away,” Hongjoong bit back with the last remaining fight left in him, curling his lip to try and maintain the facade he was putting on. He opened his eyes to glare up at the Doctor, avoiding looking at _everything_. Seonghwa was as he remembered the first time he saw him shirtless; he was made of fine lines and smooth curves and hard muscles. He was lean and sharp and honey colored _everywhere_. Hongjoong swore the man tasted like tea and honey and sin. Seonghwa’s eyes were heavy on the Prince when he quipped, “I’d tell them _all_ about how you defiled the Prince.” 

Seonghwa paused and Hongjoong once again worried about whether or not he had triggered a regret within the Doctor. His concerns were soothed however when Seonghwa once again leered over him, weight sinking the mattress by his head as he ducked down to mouth over the skin behind his ear. When he spoke, his voice came from his throat, rolling and deep and as easy to be lost in as the forest at night, “And with my last breaths I’ll tell them how you _begged_ for it.” 

Hongjoong felt himself choke on his tongue, air clogging his throat as Seonghwa pulled back to quickly finish undressing himself. He didn’t open his eyes when he felt Seonghwa’s skin on his, his own bare thighs pressing him more open, the enveloping bashfulness finally overtaking him at the prospect of exactly what was going to happen. Hongjoong allowed Seonghwa to manhandle him onto his front, blushing when he arched his hips. He felt exposed at this angle, completely at the mercy of the other man _and so exposed_. He listened to the sound of Seonghwa pouring out more oil and the slick noises he made as he worked the oil over himself. Hongjoong bit at the sheets to keep himself from rutting either backwards or downwards with the thought of the Doctor’s nimble fingers curling around himself, slick and twisting. Hongjoong felt as though his lungs had deflated and all the liquid had been drained from his body as he pressed his forehead deeper into the mattress. A shiver stole down his spine when Seonghwa’s lips found his back over the shirt he still wore, pressing kisses along the knobs of his spine and around the base of his neck. 

“Are you sure about this, Hongjoong?” Seonghwa’s voice was even, careful and soft as it ever was. It reminded him of private days in a private office, of afternoons spent in a garden, of evenings on a bridge over a river. It made Hongjoong feel relaxed, body melting with the familiar and anchoring presence that was Seonghwa.

“Yes,” Hongjoong spoke, voice muffled in the spit-damp sheets that he had mouthed at. Seonghwa had never seen the Prince look as tantalizingly beautiful as he did then, waist tiny in the drooping fabric, back arched, and face hidden from view. The look rivaled that of the images burned in his brain of the Prince’s face buried between his thighs and swallowing everything Seonghwa had to offer. Seonghwa felt the sincerity in his voice to his core and had to shut his eyes for a second to regain the sense of control that was slowly slipping from him. Hongjoong always managed to rile him up, to test every button he had to press, and Seonghwa couldn’t say he minded it, not entirely. “ _Please_.”

Seonghwa groaned against his back, hiking up his hips further with the hand he wasn’t leaning on and spread his legs with his thighs once more. The Prince caught on and held himself up, knees only slightly slipping against the slippery fabric. Seonghwa gritted his teeth as he pressed against Hongjoong, trying not to hurt him but desperate for the warmth of his body. Seonghwa’s entire body trembled when the head slipped in, his hand immediately grabbing at the Prince’s hip to keep both of them up, the sensation entirely unparalleled. Hongjoong was nothing more than a shaking leaf clinging to the tree with the last bit of preservation, his thighs quaking and knees slipping around as though he had no control of them. Seonghwa almost couldn’t look at him for much longer, feeling horribly on edge already by the mind-melting silk and the lewd imagery and the knowledge that he was robbing every ounce of silver left in the Prince. His eyes fell to the place where the Prince’s hands clung to the sheets in desperate motions, his fingers dragging against the silky material as he panted. His mouth was open and his eyes were closed and every muscle of his back flexed underneath the wrinkled shirt as Seonghwa continued to slide until their hips were flush. 

Seonghwa couldn’t think, there wasn’t the chance to- not when he was engulfed in fire, finally collapsing beneath a dying sun. He was sure that his grip was bruising, knowing the Prince would have many watercolor splotches decorating his skin by morning- the only form of art Seonghwa could manage to create.

When the Prince finally stopped squirming on him, his knees finally settling together around Seonghwa’s legs, Seonghwa finally began moving. He was slow, with shallow thrusts and no true power behind the movements, but it had Hongjoong mewling regardless. Seonghwa wanted to be sure that he didn’t hurt him, that he had become fully comfortable with the new weight inside of him before he did anything further. He clung to his worry of the Prince like a lifeline, using it to distract himself from the feeling of his body, weighing himself down with the only coherent thoughts he could manage. When the Prince began to grind back on him, Seonghwa picked the pace up slightly. 

Seonghwa fucked him languidly, body rolling and smooth, the Prince clinging onto the sheets in hopes of not drowning. He was _full_ \- overwhelmingly so. Hongjoong had never felt like this, not after any of his royal feasts or even from his own fingers. He felt like he was choking from the inside out, the pressure of Seonghwa everywhere all at once. Combined with the fullness, his own cock was grinding against the heated satin of his bedsheets, the sensation slick and sticky from his cum and drawing garbled noises from him as he did so. It was mind-numbing and exhilarating and he felt as though he could cry with the sensations coursing through him. Seonghwa was a quiet kind of noisy, breathing heavily and whining beneath his breath- occasionally he would let out a groan far deeper than expected or a soft _ah_ far higher than expected. Hongjoong _loved_ it. He felt as though he could get drunk off of it, felt as though he could fall into him and never leave. 

When Seonghwa shifted him upwards onto his knees, keeping his chest to the bed as he fucked into him at the same slow and heavy pace, he felt as though he were truly rearranging the shape of his body. The shrill noise he let out was completely beyond his consciousness, taking him a second to even register that the sound had come from _him_. Seonghwa was grinding past the same spot he had reached when he fingered him before, the sensation bringing tears to his eyes and making his cock drool against the expensive fabric of his bed. 

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa gritted out, sound just as fucked out as Hongoong felt. Hongjoong wondered what he looked like in that moment. Was the Doctor as flushed as he? As wet mouthed and teary eyed? Did he maintain the same composure he carried in life here or was he finally the shattered glass of a once exquisite mirror? “You need to quiet down.” 

It took Hongjoong a moment to process the Doctor’s request, far too focused on the slightly embarrassing noises leaving his body and the way the man felt like a branding iron against his back. Hongjoong finally found his tongue again, voice far too wobbly for his liking as he responded through clenched teeth, “I-I can’t,” 

“ _Fuck_.” Seonghwa didn’t know why the simple phrase got to him as it did, but his hips stuttered and he bit the Prince’s shoulderblade in response, begging himself not to cum yet. Seonghwa knew he would feel guilt in the morning for the way that he was undoubtedly pressing bruises into the fragile flesh of his waist. He knew he would look to them and chastise himself for not handling the Prince with more gentle hands, but he couldn’t _stop_. There was a part of him, a more primal part he thought, that feared the Prince’s sudden disappearance. It was as if he didn’t cling to him the mirage of the moment would fade and Seonghwa would be left alone again in the dawning light of morning. He also feared the loss of his mind, the inability to think a thought beyond the dire need to care for Hongjoong as he sobbed beneath him.

“Seonghwa, you feel like you’re in my _throat_ ,” Hongjoong wheezed, voice far too distant for the lack fo space between them. Seonghwa watched as one of his hands released the now wrinkled bedsheets to curl beneath himself. Seonghwa wasn’t sure what he was doing until the Prince pressed on his abdomen with a quiet gasp and it made his body hollow from the inside out. “I swear I can _feel_ it.”

“Be quiet,” Seonghwa pleaded, knowing he sounded far too strung out to be safe. He bit at the Prince’s back once again, the skin that was exposed as the shirt rode up his chest, and prayed to be able to find all of the pieces of himself later, parts of him that were shattering and dropping to earth like falling stars. His hips snapped erratically as he chased the feeling of being lost once again and stuttered over his own tongue, “Please, be quiet. Stop speaking or I will die.” 

“Only with my name on your lips.” Hongjoong spoke back, tone far too cheeky for the position he was in. He arched his lower back, the curve smooth and filigree, the sight making Seonghwa cry. He hadn’t realized there were tears in his eyes, the sensation of the Prince molding around him so perfectly that it brought him to a space where he felt far too light. Crystalline droplets dripped onto the Prince’s back from his nose, surprising the Doctor as he continued to fuck the Prince.

“Seonghwa, _wait_ ,” The Prince gasped out, the Doctor responding immediately by stilling inside of him. “Let me roll over. I want to see you.” 

Seonghwa wasn’t sure he could handle it, wasn’t sure he could handle the idea of watching as Hongjoong fell apart beneath him- or even worse the idea of Hongjoong watching him fall apart above him. The Prince had requested it, however, and Seonghwa still couldn’t find it in him to deny him anything. He pulled out slowly, listening to the way the Prince moaned mournfully at the loss and squinting his own eyes at the feeling of the air replacing the warmth. He helped the Prince roll over, his body jelly and legs entirely unhelpful. 

Like this, Seonghwa thought with wide eyes, he would not last long. The Prince was flushed from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck, the color fanning across his collarbones where it disappeared under his tee shirt. His cheek and chest were wrinkled with the lines of the sheets and Seonghwa felt the urge to strip the Prince bare. Hongjoong seemed to get the same idea because he quickly wiggled the shirt off of himself, laying himself out for the Doctor to admire once again. 

“You are,” Seonghwa sighed into the air, watching the way that Hongjoong’s eyes followed his mouth with direct focus, “The most sublime person I’ve ever seen. You are one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen, nearly holy.” 

Seonghwa half expected the Prince to curl in on himself at the earnest words, but instead he remained, eyes level and hooded as he stared up at him. Seonghwa watched on bated breath and crumbling resolve as the Prince’s fingers danced around his own belly button, tracing the curves of his smooth stomach in hypnotizing rhythms. “Then worship me.” 

Seonghwa groaned, the sound catching in his chest and bouncing around his ribcage before he gripped the Princes thighs and slid home once again. Hongjoong arched when he did so, head tipping back and exposing the entire length of his throat and chest, his collarbones cursive and prominent. He looked _beautiful_ and Seonghwa wished for the millionth time that he could draw, but instead he would paint the image in his mind to keep until the universe took back what it had lended the earth.

Like this Seonghwa could fuck him in long strokes and he used the grip on his thighs to drag him back and forth, the silk making the movements easier. The Prince simply melted into the touch, trusting the Doctor to move him as he deemed fit, allowing his jaw to remain lax as he filled the air with his voice. His fingers held onto the sheets once again and Seonghwa was barely able to make out the sight of the light strip of skin on his one finger, the place where his silver band had once sat. Seonghwa squeezed his eyes shut and felt his hips cant slightly faster at the knowledge that that ring would never be returning _because of him_.

When Hongjoong looked up at Seonghwa, he realized the Doctor was crying, tear-tracks tracing his cheeks as he thrust smoothly into the Prince. Hongjoong felt his mouth dry at the sight. His tears shone in the dim lighting like poorly polished crystals, his mouth open and raw, eyes pressed tightly shut. Hongjoong would remember this face, this expression, and would sketch it later on, holding onto the memory of his lover and the way he stole every last star in the sky. Hongjoong was convinced in that moment that Seonghwa had simply robbed the sky and filled the two of them with celestial dust, the fire burning within him far greater than what he thought a human body could ever create. 

Hongjoong’s legs shuddered in his grasp as he attempted to close them, his body preparing for yet another orgasm as he shifted and whined. He brought one hand down to rest against his hip, fingers pausing nervously. Something felt _off_ but he wasn’t sure _what_. It took him a second of nothing but Seonghwa’s keening and desperate thrusts before he realized what it was. 

“Seonghwa,” He said softly, watching as the Doctor’s wet obsidian eyes opened to stare down at him, “Watch me.”

Seonghwa’s eyes were heavy as he watched the Prince and the way his fingers barely brushed against his cock. Seonghwa’s hands found his hips for purchase, enraptured by the sight as Hongjoong’s hips canted into his palm, his eyes never leaving the Doctor. Hongjoong barely brushed himself for a half of a minute before he was stilling and cumming, body convulsing around the Doctor. The second orgasm was far more powerful than the first, his body twitching as he sobbed into the air, holding Seonghwa entirely hostage. 

The Doctor only felt himself regain control of his body once the Prince fell against the bed, rutting his hips as gently as he could manage, collapsing fully on top of him. He bit at the Prince’s neck, muttering into his ear with words he knew were overly sweet but completely uncontrollable by his wicked tongue. Hongjoong simply moaned weakly through it, patting at his hair with trembling fingers and soft voice coaxing him through it. Seonghwa didn’t take long before he arched into the Prince and came, groaning into his ear as he saw stars. 

When the two came down, he weakly rolled off of the Prince in fear of crushing him and hid birdlike body. Their limbs were still entangled, wrapped together like twisting briars. Breathlessly, Hongjoong laughed into the silence, sweet and light as ever. There had been nothing said, nothing humorous to be heard, but Seonghwa could hear the chains of the castle being cut from Hongjoong’s form. Seonghwa kissed the side of his head and then his temple in response, hoping to coax him down further.

Seonghwa noted distantly that the rain was still falling outside, the night dark and the sky blank. Perhaps he truly had just robbed the heavens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so now that that is over......there's only one chapter left :( and it might take me a ~little~ bit to finish it because of the holidays (which by the way, happy holidays if you celebrate any! if not, happy winter!) but it shouldn't be too long. anyways thank you guys for the sweet comments and support, this fic has been such a fun thing to write and i genuinely hope you've enjoyed it along the way!!<3<3<3


	9. Horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Wanna get inside of your night, you can make me drown, hold me tight._   
>  _I’ve been waiting all night long, we can take it slow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this took so long but this chapter is HUGE and with all the holidays i was just- very busy. that being said i hope everyone celebrated well and safely (if you celebrate anything, if not i hope your winter is going well and safely!) and that you all are taking care and staying healthy!!<3<3<3
> 
> Anyways this fic just keeps getting longer *sobs*. I split the last part of this chapter off into an epilogue because I think that an epilogue suits this fic best~~ also, this chapter is like 20k long as is so....i’ll be uploading the epilogue within the next couple days because it's not too long so editing it should be quick!
> 
> Some info in the end notes! As always, please enjoy!<3
> 
> Song: [Horizon](https://open.spotify.com/track/0gRcXSB03wwcccSpZNBuRg?si=YOL1m4OwROePLMHmGA854A)  
>  \- Elhae, I.M

Morning arrived the same way as it always did for Seonghwa, with pale sunlight bleeding through puffy clouds and the feeling of sheets against skin that barely came into his cognition. The only difference to this morning than others was the gentle breath against his neck was not from Milo purring contently in sleep, but the petal shaped lips of the strawberry haired Prince. Hongjoong hadn’t separated from him through the night, the Doctor occasionally waking to fuss over him unintentionally. Some part of him, unconscious but in control, desired to take perfect care of him- to ensure his safety entirely. He would wake at random to curl the blankets around them, to shift the pillows, to make sure _he was still there_. Hongjoong slept through the entire night, peacefully, looking as graceful as he did awake, lips parted and eyes fluttering through the images of what Seonghwa hoped were good dreams. 

His arm was slightly cramped from the place it rested beneath the Prince’s pillow, but he only adjusted so he could curl the Prince into him further, cradling him against his side as he slowly stirred. Seonghwa couldn’t resist, placing a single, soft kiss to the bridge of the Prince’s nose. Then another to his forehead, where the skin was soft and entirely smooth. Then one to his free cheek, plush and warm with sleep. Another to his temple, his hair stamped to the skin there. The Doctor shifted to continue his barrage of gentle, sweet kisses that he found far too addicting; it felt right, he thought, showering him with such precious affection. The Prince began to blink blearily, jade eyes unfocused as the morning sunk into his skin along with the sensations of Seonghwa’s lips decorating every inch of reachable skin with the feeling of his lips.. Finally, he stretched, arms sliding from beneath the blanket to reach upwards as though grasping for the stars and groan, the sound rumbling in his chest and barely concealing the cracking of his bones.

“My back hurts,” Hongjoong complained in lieu of greeting, voice croaky and achy sounding. Seonghwa didn’t let his mind wander too far into the cause of the ribbit-y sound he carried, instead choosing to focus on kissing his cheek again. “You hurt my back.”

Seonghwa laughed through his nose, clutching the Prince to his side further, dragging him across ruined sheets and tired sunbeams. Hongjoong allowed the cuddling, body limp, despite the complaining noise he made. He shifted his own thigh over the Doctor’s lap, nosing into his neck once they were settled together intimately. Seonghwa shifted his free hand beneath his head to support his neck as he admired the top of the Prince’s head, feeling as though he could spend the morning counting every individual strand of hair and never tire. “That’s normal. You’ll be sore for a little while. My apologies.”

Hongjoong made a soft noise, something close to disbelief at the disingenuous apology. There had been no remorse in Seonghwa’s voice, only a tone tainted with a warm ego that filled his chest. It wasn’t quite pride, per se, but it felt as heavy and noticeable. Hongjoong shifted his hips closer until he was pressed against the Doctor in the silence, taking advantage of the man’s loose grip on him. Seonghwa pointedly ignored the hardness pressing dryly there, bringing the hand wrapped around the Prince’s shoulderblades to play with his hair instead of the freckled skin. Hongjoong nipped at the Doctor’s neck in response, teeth blunt and bold and mouth far warmer than the air around them. “Maybe I’ll forgive you, but only on a condition.”

“A condition?” Seonghwa asked, a laugh in his voice that he barely suppressed, “What may that be, My Prince?”

Hongjoong ground forward in response and Seonghwa was painfully aware of the nakedness of the two. It was a heavy reminder of what he had done- of what _they_ had done. It was both comfortably intimate but distracting, wrapped into one as he could only focus on the feeling of silk-like skin brushing against his own body. It had been a long time since Seonghwa had shared a bed with someone like this- in a manner that felt like _sharing_ rather than _robbing_. It made his whole body tremble, the weight of the bracelet on his wrist a reminder of the man’s claim on him. “You help me unravel.”

Seonghwa tapped his fingers against the Prince’s scalp in slightly chastising motions, attempting to shake the arousal from the young heir. “You are far too sore, I’m sure of it. Besides, you just woke up.”

Hongjoong hummed, nipping once again at what was surely already bruised skin. Seonghwa wondered how many marks the Prince had left, how many intentional and unintentional visible signals of what they had done. How many marks would he be able to trace, a physical reminder of the time he spent with the Prince, with _Hongjoong_? The thought made his heart stutter and he was certain the Prince could hear it in his chest. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, politer, almost _pleading_. It was a ruse, Seonghwa knew, but Hongjoong knew the Doctor was unable to refuse him of anything when he spoke like that, “Please?”

Seonghwa sighed, before giving in once again, the pillars supporting his resolve crumbling with the _cute_ tone. He took his hand from beneath his head to grab a pillow to replace it, balling it up and keeping his head angle while freeing his hand. He allowed himself to trail down the Prince’s back and massage at the inevitably sore muscles of his lower back and hips with careful motions, fingers digging into the flesh there with dry strokes that would surely redden his skin. Hongjoong groaned as his hips pressed forward again, the drag of both Seonghwa fingers and thigh far too frictionous for comfort but still too good to ask him to stop. 

With his free hand, Seonghwa fumbled around for the bottle of oil on the nightstand and clumsily doused it on his fingers and palm when it was found. He slid the palm full of oil carefully beneath the blanket, hoping to avoiding ruining the bedding further than they already had. He would have to encourage Hongjoong to give their laundrymaids a gift of some sort as both an apology and a gratitude. When he felt situated, he tipped the excess oil onto the plush curve of his thigh, the muscle twitching as it settled and dripped there. It was a warm and ticklish feeling, but Seonghwa ignored it as he withdrew his hand and pressed it into Hongjoong’s back, digging into the muscles with a slicker friction now. Hongjoong had long since caught onto Seonghwa’s intentions and had begun to grind aimlessly at his thigh, searching for the droplets that he knew were waiting. 

When he finally hit them, the drag became considerably easier, Hongjoong falling into a rhythm easily as his body rolled with his hips smoothly. He panted softly against the Doctor’s neck, noises so faint that Seonghwa was sure they’d be lost if there was any space between them. He was warm, _so warm_ against him, but entirely small and delicate. It was one of the moments where he felt the most overwhelming urge to take care of the Prince, to keep him safe, to keep him protected. It was an odd feeling to have as he chased an orgasm against him, but it was potent nonetheless, making him feel as though he were once against lounging in the clouds. He pulled the Prince impossibly closer, listening to him keen at the feeling of being entirely pressed against him, the pressure heavier where he needed the most now. Seonghwa’s hand now clasped his shoulder that pointed to the sky as he pinned him to his body, using it for leverage to keep him there. The hand Hongjoong wasn’t lying on, pinning it to the bed and useless, was resting against Seonghwa’s right shoulder. His fingers dug into the skin of his pec occasionally as he scrambled for purchase, nails knicking the sensitive skin and making Seonghwa hiss with a barely concealed fondness. Hongjoong’s fingers would knot against the muscle and relax and then drag and relax, an unsteady rhythm, undecided about how to ask for what he needed. 

Seonghwa knew what he needed, words unnecessary as he pressed encouraging kisses to his head once again. Hongjoong’s nose was buried in his neck, mouth pressed against the dip of his collarbone as his body shuddered and trembled in his grasp. He wasn’t much more than shattered glass strewn across the bed, but Seonghwa held him together with gentle hands. When Seonghwa’s hand traveled from his lower back to his chest, dancing around the sensitive skin there, Hongjoong nuzzled deeper, almost pleadingly. 

“Insatiable, My Prince,” The words were a memory, something familiar on the tongue. Teasing and taunting, full of love and familiar cravings.

Hongjoong groaned low in his throat, nipping at his collarbone as his hips stuttered on a less controlled thrust. He had asked Seonghwa to unravel him and unravelling he was, composure slackening the longer they continued as they did. “You try being sexually repressed for twenty-four years,” He ground out, voice gritty as though he spoke it around a mouth full of sugar, “And then try having the most beautiful man on the planet -the one you’ve fantasized about and been unable to have as you watched from so far yet so close- in your bed. See how you would react.”

Seonghwa hummed, grinning to the top of the Prince’s head, eyes unfocused on the bookshelf of knick-knacks across the room. “Fantasized, huh?” Hongjoong shushed him before falling into a gasp, unable to speak as Seonghwa pinched at his nipple with nimble fingers. He did it politely, gently, rolling and plucking without much force, but it made the Prince whine quietly nonetheless as he ground into him harder. “Did you spend a lot of time thinking about this? About me? Now that I’m here, what would you have me do?”

“Touch me,” Hongjoong pleaded, voice strained and strung out, all the tension in him coiling and snapping all at once as his mouth spilled the words on his tongue, “ _Please_.”

Seonghwa didn’t hesitate, he _couldn’t_ hesitate when Hongjoong sounded like that, fingers dipping back below the blanket to grip the Prince in between their thighs. He mopped at the head still slick enough with oil and precum to be smooth and easy. He drew wet noises from Hongjoong, sobs that were caught between exhales and chokes as he mouthed unintelligible words against the column of Seonghwa’s throat. It took less than a minute for the Prince to cum between them, warmth spreading over Seonghwa’s lap and hand. It was less than a minute of Hongjoong blubbering slurred nonsense into his skin and Seonghwa murmuring praise after praise into his hair to help him. The Prince shook heavily as he came, only trembling harder as he began to descend, Seonghwa holding him tighter as he did so to keep all of his shattered pieces together. 

When the silence held them warmly again and Hongjoong had ceased his trembling, the two basking in the glow of the morning and the intimacy, Seonghwa finally mumbled, “You need to wash your sheets.”

\---  
Seonghwa hadn’t expected to spend the night with the Prince so he hadn’t expected to need to bring a change of clothing either. He was glad he had had the forethought to leave an extra amount of kibble out for Milo the morning before, having expected it to be a later night than usual, knowing he would already be returning to a disgruntled feline simply for the extended absence.

Seonghwa sat in his office dressed in one of the Prince’s long black skirts and a black turtleneck tucked into it, the two fitting him only barely. The outfit was simple and one of the only things he could find that wasn’t comically small on his longer body, a fact that he had teased the Prince with incessantly throughout their time getting ready together that morning. He smiled at the handflower bracelet that glimmered on the back of his hand, the weight of it comforting and warm, both to his heart and his nerves. It was so pleasing, that morning, the domesticity of getting dressed and ready together. Hongjoong and he had showered together, the Prince offering him a spare toothbrush and towel, grinning as he displayed them both after use as though they would be used regularly- Seonghwa was certain they would be. It was pleasant, domestic, _homey_. It felt like something that Seonghwa could do every day and never want to stop.

He had expected to feel something heavy after the realization of the night's actions, possibly something regretful or mournful, when he was alone with his thoughts. 

He hadn’t, despite his concerns.

The morning had been filled with such a blissful warmth, something entirely sweet and comfortable as though he were bathed in nothing but sunlight and wildflowers. It had been hard to leave the Prince’s arms earlier, Hongjoong clinging to him after they had both dressed as though he wished to become one with him, but Seonghwa insisted upon his departure. He wished to begin work in his new apothecary today, the room finally finished entirely- he felt an excitement burning through him at the prospect of getting to use not only his new garden but his new workspace for what it was intended. He wanted to begin crafting so he could prove to Hongjoong his worth as a brewer, to show him the other side of his Doctoring. It left his fingers weaker and cheeks strained with the smile that had yet to leave his mouth.

Seonghwa was busy gathering the recipes from his books, attention so distracted that he had missed the sound of the knock on the door as well as the sound of it opening. 

“Doctor Park,” An entirely familiar yet foreign voice shattered the blissful bubble he had surrounded himself in with the slightest pinprick. Seonghwa dropped the book in his hand, the thudding of it hitting the floor muffled as he looked up to the entryway with wide eyes. Seonghwa felt as though he could pass out in the place he stood as he stared at the intruder- he didn’t know if he could actually qualify her as an _intruder_ considering she _owned_ the palace.

“My Queen.” He stuttered out, bowing low at the waist with stiff muscles and the inherent shame drip down his spine with the knowledge that he’d taken her son to bed last night. 

“Please, Doctor, it’s alright.” She spoke softly here, far softer than he had ever heard her before. It was almost tentative the way she addressed him in the faded midday sunlight and personally decorated office. Seonghwa straightened hesitantly to look at her, unfolding his body but still feeling the creases as though he were now a wrinkled paper ready to be shoved back into the shape it had once taken. 

She looked far different here, lingering in the doorway to his office as though waiting for permission to enter. She wore a simple gown today, entirely baby blue cotton with iridescent white lace trim and a sheer, veil-like white robe draped over her shoulders that trailed behind her in a romantic train. Her red hair was down in silky waves, the front pieces curling around her soft cheeks. She looked beautiful, matronly, _personal_. She looked like a mother, the creases by her eyes and nose perfected by time. 

Seonghwa swallowed heavily as he could pinpoint every detail that she had crafted into Hongjoong, every feature that was passed down the royal lineage. There was little different between them, though Seonghwa couldn’t find the glow that Hongjoong carried with him. When she spoke it lacked the luster that Hongjoong’s voice carried, though hers was lyrical and easy to listen to just the same, “I was hoping to speak with you, actually. Take a walk with me?”

Seonghwa wasn’t sure what he expected from the Queen when she wasn’t playing the role of reigning royalty, but what he found was a rather soft-spoken, mild presence. 

She had led the two from his office and through the castle silently, offering only occasional commentary of history and factoids. Seonghwa learned that her father, the predecessor King, had been a pottery lover and his wife had been an avid clay-worker and that was how the pair had met. He learned that six generations ago the reigning Queen had rebuilt the east wing to rid the palace of the religious shape, keeping only the aesthetics and none of the ties. He learned that Hongjoong’s father had once dropped a slab of stone he was carrying for reasons she didn’t explain and had shattered the glass mosaic floor of the second floor northern hallway, which had led to the floor being partially replaced with stone leading to its mismatched appearance. Seonghwa learned several of the ghosts of the castle and learned several of the pieces that were handed down to create the personality Seonghwa now knew as _Hongjoong_. He didn’t know what he would store the information for, but it left him feeling airy and numb, an ache to return to the Prince strong. Seonghwa realized belatedly that she was leading them to the side of the grounds opposite to the labyrinth, a part he had not adventured much at all. Everything important to him was always on the side facing the expanse of the forest and hills rather than the river that split the forest.

When they exited through a white door that looked oddly like those of a churches, he was met with equally beautiful grounds as the other side. On this side he discovered that this was the location of the poolhouse where he suspected Hongjoong trained for swimming; the building was large and made of multi-colored brown bricks, mimicking almost a pixelated tree bark aesthetic with curving and indistinct patterns, trimmed with white and high arched windows that gleamed black in the lighting. As they walked down the path lining the castle, the Queen gave him a few quiet details with no conversation point. The pool was only two generations old. Hongjoong was the one who used it the most, his mother holding a strange reservation towards the water. The bricks making the building were created from both stone and a wood bark paste- something he had heard of nowhere else. Seonghwa listened, complimenting equally as politely and quietly as they went. The Queen’s train flowed behind her as though she were leaving a trace of herself behind as they went, a piece of her left on the grounds as her predecessors had done- _as Hongjoong would do_. Seonghwa suddenly felt as though he understood why they were meeting, why she was giving him more information about the family lineage, more information about _who the Prince was_.

The realization made him nervous, a dark pit opening in the center of his stomach as began to think about all the implications of what this _meant_. He used his surroundings to ground himself: the swishing of his borrowed skirt, the dampness of the plush earth, the smell of rain and flowers in the air- distinctly _roses_. He looked around for the source, drawing himself from his thoughts. There was a large, well cared for rose patch that they rounded on as they moved past the hedges and waist-high stone walls that lined the pathway. It looked as though they were filled with prettily carved dirt pathways, intricate stone sitting benches, and a tall marble gazebo in the center with a bishop’s point. The Queen mentioned off-handedly that it was her own garden as they passed by the entrance of the pathways. He learned that this was the place where she spent whatever downtime she had in her summer and spring, enjoying the scent of roses and the color of the sky before she was once again contained to stone by the chilled air or duty. Seonghwa almost asked which was colder, but held his tongue.

She hadn’t led them to either setting they had passed, though, walking by them and commenting on them, but never leading him to them. Instead they followed the stonewalls until they curved around the rose patch and led to a a rounded annex of the main castle. The roof was rounded and came to a sharp point with a metal globe resting upon a spear, something he had come to recognize as the Kim family crest- that had not always been the Royal heir’s symbol and Seonghwa wondered what the next would be. A vague thought passed his mind of a butterfly motif and a moonflower carved into wood, but he stamped it down to focus on the present. 

The walls of the building were brown brick matching the poolhouse immaculately, however the window panes were stark white, ivy crawling up the sides and reaching for the sky with every ounce of strength they had after coming back to life from winter’s end. The door was heavy and white with glass windows that gleamed with almost an oil-slick look as he moved around, _fascinating_ to the eye. 

When the pair had entered silently, Seonghwa felt surprised with the sight before him, taking a second to breathe as he took in everything. The Queen allowed him his moment, seeming to have expected this reaction, politely just admiring him from the side with a small, yet encouraging smile.

The air was damp in the building and smelled like water, the source of it being the large, misshapen pond in the center of the circular room. The surface of the clear water was covered with blooming lily pads and reeds, colorful koi weaving in and out of the stems causing them to sway slightly. A small row of cattails lined the farthest end of the pond, standing tall and proud in the artificial setting, a large boulder seated next to them that was worn down on the center and water-facing side as though someone sat there day in and day out. The floor of the pond was all rock and mud, natural looking but clean, the water disturbed only by the small waterfall next to the entrance. Plants hung from the walls, ones Seonghwa surprisingly couldn’t identify; they were exotic and waxy looking, climbing the walls and floors in intricate patterns. He wanted to study them, his fingers twitching to collect samples and experiment with them. He controlled himself, turning his attention back to the Queen who was watching him intently. 

“Sarah said you liked plants,” She supplied politely when his attention was finally returned to her. Seonghwa felt relaxed, both from the environment and the way her voice was as serene as the lily pads, lilting and dancing in the same way Hongjoong’s could be. “I thought this would be a nice place to talk in- somewhere you would be comfortable.” 

Seonghwa wasn’t sure how to respond, but the Queen was walking away with quiet steps regardless. He almost worried for the train of her dress, though he suspected that she would dip her feet in the water if left to her devices. She glided towards a rounded bench that sat against the curved wall with a window above it, the room flowing together with the decor so nicely that it made Seonghwa’s chest ache in appreciation. She patted the stone invitingly, expression open if not a slight bit amused. Seonghwa obliged, unsure of whether curiosity or duty controlled him. 

When the two were silent for more than a minute, nothing but the sound of the tranquil water between them, Seonghwa spoke cautiously into the air, fists clenched on his thighs. “If you are going to ask me to stop seeing the Prince-”

“Heavens no,” She interrupted smoothly, waving her hand dismissively but without arrogance. Seonghwa caught notice of the gold ring that shone on her finger as she did so, but didn’t mention it. The wave was a relieving gesture, something passive and light, as though she were shooing the heaviness in the air and his mind. Seonghwa felt as though he could breathe again, chest and mind significantly lighter. “I have many doubts that, even if I were to ask that of either of you, that either of you would even _pretend_ to cede. I’m no fool.”

Seonghwa allowed himself to chuckle, voice taut with trepidation as he looked for ways to word his thoughts carefully. He tried to be mindful that not only was he speaking about the heir to the throne, but also _her son_. “I was going to say that I would be unable to follow the order. At least, until the Prince requested it himself.”

“You’re rather attached to him. No-” She noted then paused, looking out over the water. Her eyes were dark and thoughtful, searching over the gently rippling surface as though the small waves and languid koi would offer her the words she seeked. Seonghwa was once again wrapped in the resemblance Hongjoong bore from her. Her side profile was the same as Hongjoong’s, if not slightly softer and more rounded. After a moment she seemed to have lacked the word she was seeking, speaking almost to herself, “That’s not right.”

“ _Devoted_.” Seonghwa supplied softly, looking away as well as heat filled his chest. He could feel her looking at him, could feel the pressure of her eyes. He wouldn’t crack, though he feared to see what was in her gaze that made it so heavy. “That’s what he says sometimes, at least. That I’m devoted.”

There was a breath of nothing, where the two let his words sink into the air and water around them. Then, he could see her smile from the corner of his eye; he could see the way she softened as studied him. “Yes, I can see that.” She agreed with a hum that _sounded_ like Hongjoong’s. “I was never devoted to his father.” 

She was looking to the water again, the two admiring the surface together. When it was certain that she would not speak again without prompt, Seonghwa tapped his bracelet against the stone bench, the sound filling the silence. He wondered if it was appropriate to inquire, but then assumed that if she had not wished to discuss the topic, that she wouldn’t have broached it. “Was his father unkind?”

“Oh no,” She said with a laugh that sounded far sadder than it should have, full of what tasted like longing and regret. It made Seonghwa’s chest ache with a phantom pain that was not _his_. “He was a wonderful man. He would have made an incredible father as well. Hongjoong inherited that _soft_ nature from him, not myself. His father often cared for injured birds and fed the raccoons grapes. He said he liked the way they washed them with their hands so he would sit there for hours and wait for them. He was a wonderful man. I just never loved him, not like I should have. I never could have.”

When Seonghwa looked at her, she looked mournful; like she was mourning not the death of her husband, but the loss of chances she never had, ones she never could grasp, things she could not reach. The sight made Seonghwa feel as though he were choking; he felt the sadness creeping up his throat and threatening to suffocate him in empathy. Still, curiosity ebbed at him and had him questioning further. “If he was so wonderful then why not?” 

There was a moment where she only stared at the water, watching the fish press against the surface and disappear, the lily pads shifting with their bodies. When she met Seonghwa’s eyes again, her expression was earnest and far too vulnerable for him, a sight and a moment he felt as though he should not be privy to. Her eyes were jade, but darker, rougher, uncut with brown and black curving around the harsher edges; Hongjoong’s had been mined from hers but polished to perfection. Hongjoong was made from the best parts of her, Seonghwa thought briefly. 

“Tell me, Doctor Park: If you were forced to marry someone other than my son, would you be able to fall in love with them?” Her voice wasn’t strained; it was even and smooth, but it caught against his skin like the soft side of velcro would and it _burned_. “Even if they were the most wonderful person on this planet? Even if they had everything you thought you _should_ be able to love, would you be able to while he was still there?”

“No,” Seonghwa was confused about the connection between the topics, but something in his chest pulled at the idea, his answer instantaneous, “No, I don’t think I could.”

She hummed softly and looked away again, eyes on the water but focused on something else, something he couldn’t see. “I couldn’t,” She sighed softly, “Sometimes you find a love so perfect that there’s no way to move around it. It’s impossible. We are often given invitations to paths we can take- the decision is whether we take them or not. I didn’t- at least, not at first. I’m glad I didn’t because I would have never had my beautiful son, but I am glad to have been given a second chance.”

Seonghwa felt as though she were trying to tell him something, though it was just out of his understanding. Still, he answered politely with, “I’m glad you had your son as well.”

She laughed, windchime-y and bright, though far more rusted than Hongjoong’s- it was as though the sound didn’t escape her often. “I’m sure you are.” She patted her abdomen, almost unconsciously, eyes still forward. “He is my only child. He is all I was able to have with my late husband and for obvious reasons Sarah and I- well, we clearly cannot have our own.” 

_Sarah_. She had mentioned the woman before but Seonghwa couldn’t pinpoint the knowledge of _who_ this woman was. He thought briefly that the woman must be, who was close enough to the Queen to even be considered. The realization struck him as though he had been hit and he felt his cheeks heat with the understanding. 

“ _Oh_ ,” He said softly, voice catching only slightly as he looked at his hand on the bench, feeling oddly shy, “ _Madame Choi_. She’s your...”

The Queen laughed again, mirthful and bright and lacking the rust, as she finally looked to Seonghwa with a smile playing across her face. Her smile didn’t crease like Hongjoong’s; it didn’t reach her eyes and it didn’t scrunch her nose. Hongjoong’s always did that. He wondered then if that was only the truth when the smile was aimed at _Seonghwa_ \- he couldn’t remember if the smile he passed others was the same or a hollowed version. The curiosity of whether or not the Queen beamed at Madame Choi in private the way Hongjoong did with him clashed into the forefront of his mind. He stamped the thought quickly with embarrassment, knowing that he shouldn’t pry into others relationships like that. He had suspected for a while now that Madame Choi was more than just her advisor, though the confirmation was equally as shocking as what he assumed Madame Choi had gone through herself at the revelation of the Doctor. 

“She’s my lover. She has been for years. I met her when I was young, a child really. She was a staff member’s daughter, the gardener.” The Queen sounded fond in a nostalgic way, though there was a sadness that dripped around them like those of early spring. “We never really- it never aligned correctly. We always seemed to _just barely_ miss each other when we were young. Then she grew older and moved out to continue her life, one without the burden of me to hold her back. Then I was wed and could only see her as a shadow in my mind. Then I had Hongjoong, the only part of my life at the point that felt _right_. Then my husband died and I was left to raise him alone. Then everything seemed to finally _click_ into place. I had ran into her by accident and found out she was studying law. I offered her the advisory position that was vacant and had been since my predecessor had retired. The rest is, well, quite literally history.”

Seonghwa was blushing though he wasn’t sure as to why. Perhaps it was the intense love creasing every one of her words, or the fondness in her tone. Perhaps it was the memory of his own _click_ as the thought of star shaped cookies dropped in a melancholic clinic raided his mind. He brought his hands to his lap, fingers twiddling with each other as his bracelet glittered in the light that filtered into the room, reminding him of every moment that had led up to where he was now. Hongjoong had claimed him, so many times, in so many ways- there were so many moments Seonghwa had felt his own _click_. Seonghwa ached to return to the Prince, to wrap him in his arms and hold him close so as to never let go. He couldn’t imagine what the Queen had felt for all those years, being in love and never being able to have it within her grasp. 

The Queen continued speaking and forced Seonghwa’s attention from the hollow, echoing feeling of his chest. “If you thought Hongjoong was the first heir to fall for his advisor, you’d be sorely mistaken. It’s not as _obscure_ as you’d think, actually. Royal marriages are typically arranged, no love found between the parties and it’s easy to fall for someone as close to you as an advisor, someone you trust so wholly and who is loyal to you and only _you_. It _is_ abnormal, however, for these relationships to be...Well, the _main_ relationship. Often it’s a side pleasure, something personal. Hongjoong doesn’t seem to want that with you, however.”

“If he wanted to keep it private, I would,” Seonghwa added immediately, urgent in his delivery in a manner that made the Queen look at him with an eyebrow raised. Seonghwa only blushed further, fingers digging into his thigh shyly, “I’d keep it all quiet if that’s what he wished.”

“But it’s not.” The Queen said, voice trailing off as though she would speak again, words failing her in the moment.

When she did not speak again, Seonghwa nodded, his chin low as he spoke in a tone that was almost secretive, “It is not.”

“And that’s okay,” She said after a moment, words seeming to have finally caught up with her. The Doctor eyed her warily from the corner of his eye with a frown tugging at his lips unconsciously. “I can’t stop him. He will be reigning King in possibly the next year or so. I thought it would be much longer, the boy never acting anything but a spoiled brat. He matured greatly within the last half year or so, though. Any wonders as to why, Doctor?”

There was a teasing tone in her voice, one that felt maternal in nature and warm. It made Seonghwa suck his lips into his mouth, teeth chewing on them gently as he attempted to stifle a laugh that escaped through his nose as a sigh. 

“I might have a suspicion.” He answered finally, voice carrying all the fondness he felt in his chest. He didn’t wish to expose the more vulnerable and personal parts of their relationship to her, but he figured she deserved to know the undying loyalty he held for her son that blossomed in his chest with every moment they spent together as though Hongjoong had begun cultivating his own garden inside of Seonghwa. 

She chuckled into the quiet atmosphere, an easy sound, a light sound. “I think I have an exact reason, Doctor. You’ve helped him grow immensely as a person. He’s far more mature with you around. You are...Something else entirely.”

Seonghwa smiled to himself, eyes landing on the bracelet and ring once again. “I thought we hid it well.”

She laughed fully then, a snort accompanying it and making him laugh shyly with. “You both did a _miserable_ job of hiding it. Rumors about the two of you have been floating around since he began disappearing to your clinic daily. I sent him away for a bit, hoping to cool him off, yet all it did was make him disappear at _night_ , which was even _more_ scandalizing. The town _loves_ some blatant gossip and you two were feeding them well.”

Seonghwa blushed brightly, chest heating once again, the fire in him stoked by the embarrassing words the Queen spared him. “If it helps,” He offered bashfully, “It wasn’t anything romantic. At least, not intentionally romantic. I was determined to keep us professional.” 

She looked pointedly at the ring on his finger and the connecting strands of metal and opals that trailed up to his wrist. Seonghwa followed her gaze, knowing there was a blatant expression of something completely _non_ -platonic sitting there between them. They looked at each other again, eyes meeting levelly in the humid air as they shared a piece of a vulnerable infinity. “It seems as though he has already openly claimed you.”

“It wasn’t what I intended,” He said softly, hoping she could hear the sincerity in his voice when he offered his explanation, “But we are where we are and I regret nothing.”

“We all have paths, Doctor Park,” She said after a beat of silence, her eyes landing on his bracelet again, though this time it felt a great deal heavier. Seonghwa knew in that moment that this was her blessing, this was her acceptance, this was her offering the only child she had bore to him with the hope of his safety and happiness. Seonghwa felt his chest nearly cave with the pressure it placed on him, though the swell of pride in him kept him together as the emotions became cluttered and unclear. When she looked to him again, her eyes were steady and gave away nothing, though he knew everything he needed to. “We all choose which to take.”

\---  
Hongjoong was tired of being pent up in the castle. He felt antsy, restless, _bored_. He hadn’t been there long, but he was pacing as he was left alone with his thoughts and he hated the idea of tracking a trail into his floor, so he found himself in the garden. He wasn’t alone and he appreciated the polite company that had followed him here, a reprieve from the silence of his room and the absence of his Doctor, one that he missed with an unusually overwhelming feeling. Despite the company being welcomed, Yunho was in a rather brooding mood that day, the two of them little more than displeased cats in the garden. Yunho was sprawled in the grass, playing with the dandelions absentmindedly, fingers weaving in and out of the stems and leaves with thoughtless patterns. Hongjoong laid on his stomach on a bench, simply watching, the cold dampness of the stone hardly irritating his already frazzled nerves. 

Hongjoong wasn’t sure why he felt so on edge after Seonghwa had left for his tasks of the day. He didn’t know if it was normal to have this reaction after sex or if it was stemming from something entirely different. He had always heard that people _glowed_ after they had the relief and influx of hormones that sex provided, but Hongjoong just felt physically achy and emotionally needy. 

“Do not pick the leaves, Yunho,” Hongjoong chastised, no true bite to his tone, when the Guard suddenly plucked one of the dandelion’s broad leaves. Yunho looked up to him in surprise, the leaf still caught between his fingers. “You are hurting the plants.”

Yunho blinked at him, looking back and forth between him and the leaf clenched between his fingers as though he were being offered a puzzle to solve. “It’s just a plant?” He said, quizzically, tone tilting upwards as though it were a question. 

“No,” Hongjoong insisted, sitting up on the bench and wincing at the pressure it put on his hips. There was a distinct twinge that made him shift uncomfortably, the hard stone doing nothing to alleviate it. He had dressed in a loose fitting black pajama set today, hoping the freedom of the outfit would help with the sensitivity, though he found it was only a slight reprieve as it at least no longer brushed against the raw spots and bruises littering fragile skin. He ignored it all as he continued to look down at the Guard, using him as a distraction from the throbbing in his sore hips. The peach haired Guard copied the movement and sat cross legged, his black uniform just giving enough to allow him to sit in the position. “They’re plants, yes, but they’re _alive_. They feel it. They feel when you hurt them just as everything alive does.”

Yunho paused again, staring down at the plucked dandelion leaf he dropped into his palm as though it were answering his questions. Then he smiled, soft and pointless as he still gazed at the leaf. “Huh,” He finally murmured, tone private as though he were speaking more to himself than Hongjoong, “That’s interesting.” 

“How could that be interesting?” Hongjoong asked, eyebrows furrowing, “Everything alive has pain receptors-”

“Not the plants,” Yunho said finally, tipping his palm so the leaf fell to the earth as he looked up to the Prince with welcoming and ever affectionate chestnut eyes. “ _You_. I’ve never heard you say anything like that before. It’s new.”

“Oh,” Hongjoong said dumbly, before looking away and at his dangling feet shyly. “Well, I’ve just recently begun appreciating plants as _living_.” 

“You spend a lot of time with the Doctor out here.” Yunho said, dismissing his last statement, then elaborating playfully, “You spend a lot of time in the garden with the plants with Seonghwa.”

Hongjoong spluttered for a moment, words escaping him. He knew by now he shouldn’t become so timid when approaching the conversation of his and Seonghwa’s relationship, though it felt so special to him that there was almost a fear of the outside world tainting it. Hongjoong wanted so desperately to love Seonghwa openly without the rest of the world interfering. It was a fine line and the possessiveness he held over the man was reflected in his reserved nature when it came to discussing their affairs. 

“We become reflections of the people we care about.” A familiarly mellow voice spoke from the entrance in the hedges, having arrived silently without warning. Hongjoong didn’t have to look up to know who it belonged to, the voice imprinted in his mind as a memory as ingrained as breathing. He smiled at his toes, secretive as he felt the numbness he had felt all day become replaced with the bouncing of crickets in his chest. “We exchange pieces of ourselves when we find ourselves caring for someone. No one is ever untouched by the influence of those around them that they regard with positive emotions.”

“Oh Seonghwa,” Yunho said once the Doctor finished his monologue, brushing over the words that clung to Hongjoong as though he had spoken his past’s obituary. “When did you get here?”

“Just now,” He answered as the Prince finally looked up at him, the two regarding each other with focused gazes. Seonghwa looked beautiful in the outfit he wore, the long black skirt elongating his figure and the fit of the turtleneck accentuating the curve and length of his torso. His clothing, Hongjoong thought, the way he looked in _His clothing_. Hongjoong could grow used to the sight of the Doctor wrapped in _his clothing_ at _his house_ in _his life_. He wanted the Doctor to be encompassed in everything that was _his_ , another selfish claiming desire. “I’ve finally finished speaking with the Queen.”

“Yunho,” Hongjoong said, voice quiet but commanding, looking to the Guard who still sat cross legged on the ground. Yunho perked up at being acknowledged. “If I could have a moment alone with the Doctor, please.”

Yunho nodded and clambered up with a salute that felt mechanic. He left silently, the Guard not in the mood nor headspace for teasing. Hongjoong wondered what was going on with him and if it had anything to do with the blonde haired Guard, but Yunho had been entirely unwilling to share. Hongjoong just hoped he would open up if needed to. He watched as the Guard disappeared to wait at the entrance, guarding the area and providing the required amount of space for something to be considered private. Seonghwa moved to sit next to the Prince on the bench with precise and smooth movements, practically floating over the grass as he moved with such poise that he could be considered nothing more than a morning dew drop. Once the Doctor was settled he slid his hand into his lap to steal Seonghwa’s own hand, intertwining their fingers on instinct. “How did the conversation go?”

“How did you know I was talking to your mother?” Seonghwa asked instead of answering, his own fingers wrapping around Hongjoong’s. His palm was warm, slightly moister than normal, and Hongjoong wondered where he had been to gather such dampness. He could smell the water on him, as though he had been by the river, his normal scent of tea and earth entirely replaced by the water and Hongjoong’s own strawberry scent. _That_ was something, Hongjoong would have to find a way to solve if the Doctor were to spend a majority of his life with the Prince. Hongjoong had become quite attached to the scent the Doctor carried with him.

“Mingi told Yunho that he heard Madame Choi telling the Queen’s Guards that she would be wandering the rose garden with you this morning and that it was to be a private discussion. Essentially, she had told them to fuck off for the time being. I could only assume that it had to do with something more confidential than even her politics and that always means _me_.” Hongjoong replied dismissively, dropping his head onto the Doctor’s shoulder. He had contemplated taunting the Doctor, avoiding his question the same way he had, but he decided against it. He wanted answers and he wanted them _quickly_. “Now, tell me how it went.” 

“Well,” Seonghwa said finally, tone honest yet distant as he seemed to mull over his own day. He dropped his chin to the Prince’s head, rubbing it there for a moment before retreating to speak. “We talked about a lot of...personal things. I think she trusts me with you.” 

Hongjoong smiled, his chest filling with something airless yet heavy as he felt himself glow with the pride of his lover. He looked up to him, studying the curve of the tip of his nose and the glossy black of his eyes that reflected the world around them as though they were mirrors. He loved the gold veining in his iris that decorated the lighter spots of brown which were only visible in direct lighting. “I knew she would _adore_ you. She just needed to meet you first and she would _understand_.” 

“Did you arrange this, My Prince?” Seonghwa asked after only a beat, eyebrow raised as he stared down at the impish Prince.

“Maybe,” He replied nonchalantly, coy and grinning in his secrecy. He scooted closer despite the ache in his back, until their thighs were touching and he could absorb the warmth radiating off of the bigger man not unlike a reptile. He decided to cede and give the Doctor the satisfaction of an answer, his fingers stroking Seonghwa’s gently as he admitted to his meddling, “I didn’t intend for it to be the morning after you snatched my purity, but I knew she would be calling you shortly. I wanted her to meet you so desperately. I knew if only she met you, her concerns would be soothed.” 

“What if she had hated me?” Seonghwa asked, voice airy as though there was no true concern in his question. Hongjoong watched as his tongue darted across his plush lower lip, following the movement carefully. His hips throbbed momentarily, reminding him of the repercussions for such thoughts that came with admiring him. “Then what would you have done, My Prince?” 

“Impossible,” Hongjoong replied quickly, stirring from his intense fixation on the Doctor’s lips, eyes darting up to find the Doctor’s again. “I adore you. There’s no possible way she would not feel the same.” 

Seonghwa hummed into the silence of the garden, the two falling into a comfortable tranquility as the events of the day settled between them. Hongjoong felt relieved that his mother adored Seonghwa; he had been certain she would, but there was the historic anxiety of his partner meeting his parent paired with the anxiety of his Queen meeting his consort. He had been entirely certain she would love him, but the fear was still _there_. He was reassured in knowing he had been right. 

_Partner_. The thought echoed in his mind with a vengeance, bouncing around jeeringly. He considered Seonghwa to be his partner yet neither of them had ever asked verbally- they’d simply fallen into the roles so naturally that it was glossed over.

“Hey, Seonghwa?” Hongjoong asked after the moment between them grew long. He figured now was the best time, everything hanging between them open and vulnerable still.

“Yes, Hongjoong?” He responded, voice equally as quiet and careful. Seonghwa’s fingers pressed into his palm and it sent a wave of affection through him, making him nuzzle his nose into his neck where he knew hickeys lied beneath the fabric.

“I’ve been meaning to ask for a while now,” He toed around the water cautiously before deciding to dive in; the waves would either swallow him or send him to shore, either way Seonghwa would never leave him under for long. “I feel as though it should’ve come long before everything that has already happened, but in time everything happens as it is meant to happen. Anyways, what I am trying to ask you is: Seonghwa, would you be my partner?”

There was a silence then that filled him with unknown emotions. It wasn’t heavy, not in a suffocating manner. It was light and carried the sounds birds chirping from a distance and the rush of the swollen river that had swallowed all the rains. It was a warm moment from the heat radiating off of the two and the fire of fondness that always was ignited between the two. It wasn’t heavy and Hongjoong had no fear of rejection clinging to him. If Seonghwa were to reject him, he would simply try again later. 

Seonghwa took a breath before speaking, tone light and teasing as it carried through the moment mimicking the beautiful tones of spring, “Didn’t you say the gala we will be attending is a masquerade?” 

Hongjoong’s face scrunched as he pulled away to look up at the smirking Doctor. He wasn’t sure what game he was beginning, but Hongjoong was willing to play if it made him feel accomplished.

“Yes,” He said after a moment, bumping his chin against the Doctor’s shoulder as he contemplated, “Yes, Wooyoung loves his masquerades. Why?” 

“Well,” Seonghwa said, voice full of mirth and taunt. He had something planned, something devious, and Hongjoong knew he would not be getting his answer directly today. “How about this, My Prince. If you can find me throughout the night, you can have me.”

Hongjoong licked his lips, admiring the gall of the Doctor. It wasn’t a rejection, but it was a test of the Prince’s tenacity. He knew that Seonghwa felt the same as he did, that they had fallen into the roles without having to address it, but he also knew that there was so much more fun in _working for it_. He crooked an eyebrow at the man and rested his chin on his shoulder, his lips almost brushing his skin as he looked at him through his eyelashes. Seonghwa looked down at him, eyes dark as he watched the Prince’s mouth, fingers holding him tighter. “I think I’d like to accept those conditions.”

\---  
Seonghwa loved mornings like this. The ones drenched in diluted sugary sunlight as the rain made clear paths along the windowpanes in translucent streaks that blurred the world around them. There was a worry within him that they would feel less intimate after their escapades, perhaps even more shy or reserved. That wasn’t the case, not when Hongjoong had shown up to his house unexpectedly in a fuzzy grey sweater and turquoise pajama bottoms, complaining about the cold and looking one set of ears from being kitten caught in the rain. 

The two sat and listened to the sound of the rain as the sun rose to bathe the world in shimmering light, enjoying the tea and soft sound of Milo purring by their feet where he lay sleeping on the couch. Hongjoong was relaxed against his chest, practically purring along with the cat, sipping the summerberry tea from a chipped mug, the steam long since having disappeared. He would sigh occasionally, body rising and sinking with the movement as though he were thinking heavily on something that Seonghwa was not privy to. Seonghwa could take educated guesses, his lips tugging into a grin every time he thought of the game he invited the Prince to play; he didn’t like crowds or parties, but the offer of playing _hide and seek_ from the Prince all evening made the gala sound _much_ more inviting.

“Have you thought more about the offer?” Hongjoong inquired, breaking the silence of the morning. His voice was sweet and unwitting, the words far too familiar, practically a memory.

Seonghwa grinned into his strawberry and sweet lemon scented hair, nuzzling the back of the Prince’s head with care. It seemed as though Hongjoong was always asking things of him and that he was always making the Prince wait. Perhaps it was good to teach the barely-younger man some patience. Humming he answered playfully, words falling into his hair and shifting it slightly in a manner that made the Prince shiver in his grasp and clutch his mug only slightly tighter, “I gave you my conditions, My Prince.”

Realistically the two of them knew Seonghwa would accept regardless of how the evening went. Seonghwa never had any intentions of rejection nor leaving the Prince’s side. Hongjoong knew this, Seonghwa knew this. It was a simple fact of the universe, similar to the sky being blue and the ocean breathing life. Certain things were known without doubt- they were simply one of those things. Still, Hongjoong fed into his game, choosing to entertain the Doctor. Slyly, his voice rose a pitch as he spoke into the ceramic, “What if I cannot find you? What then, Doctor?”

“Ooo,” Seonghwa sang, wrapping his arms around the Prince’s chest tighter, tugging him backwards again. “I thought you did not know _failure_.”

The Prince only scoffed in reply.

\---  
When the day of the masquerade arrived, Seonghwa disappeared. Well, Seonghwa had actually disappeared the night _prior_ to the day of the gala. He had stopped by the Prince’s quarters, kissed him once with too much tongue for something so fleeting, and then disappeared. 

Hongjoong hadn’t seen him the entire day, the man proving to be entirely evasive. For a moment he had wondered if he had even arrived at the castle that day, but he knew the Doctor was on site as he had heard so much from the unwitting staff. They gossiped behind raised hands, as they often did, with voices too loud to be secretive and words too improper to be decent.  
_The Prince’s lover is here_.  
_Lover? Is that certain?_  
_I heard from the dishboy who heard from the stableboy that heard from the laundrymaid that she had seen the man leaving his quarters early._  
_Early?_  
_Early as in having never left._  
_Oh,_ early. _I heard that it was a woman._  
_No, it’s definitely the newest help._

He hadn’t listened to the full conversation, disappearing with rosy cheeks and a fair amount of pride. He wasn’t sure why his chest swelled with the understanding that Seonghwa’s intimate presence in his life was common knowledge, but it felt as though something had lifted from his shoulders. There was a certain _pride_ attached to them having used the term _lover_ , a possessive kind of pride that made him feel tameless. 

Still, despite his eavesdropping and gossip gathering, he hadn’t learned of Seonghwa’s location. Hongjoong presumed it was both to rile him up and also keep him from cheating and discovering his outfit for the night.

Despite knowing he would see everyone in only a few hours, Hongjoong had begun to feel lonely due to the lack of his shadow, unsure of what to do with himself while almost entirely alone. He found himself wandering the halls as a ghost or perhaps a living corpse, corporeal yet nonexistent. With Seonghwa avoiding him and Yunho and Mingi both invited guests as well, departing to prepare themselves to be presentable, he found himself entirely alone for the first time in what felt like ages. A different Guard followed him around, but there was a complete lack of personality with this Guard. They wore the traditional outfit, their face entirely covered and body entirely neutral. Hongjoong wasn’t even sure what gender they were or if they were even human. Perhaps they were just an automaton sent to babysit him lest he caused trouble, rather than protect him from looming dangers outside of his expectations. 

He stopped at one of the stained glass windows of the west upper hall, the high arch and iron framing beautiful, if not slightly out of date. The window itself portrayed a weeping character, the floating face geometric and entirely without body. Hongjoong had never felt _sad_ looking at this window; he interpreted it as a relieved, peaceful, or even a happy, character. It was a mostly yellow glass scene with hues of orange and red decorating it, the occasional splash of blue and green a stark contrast. The colors reminded him of late summer, when the grass was barely coming to life and the trees were yellowing. He remembered the sight from a gloomy office window, the layer of dust on the sill and the lack of zest bringing the atmosphere a grey hue, as the trees began to change with the feeling of his heart.

Hongjoong quite liked this window.

\---  
If there was one thing Hongjoong loved about the life of royalty, it was the gala’s. Whether he was hosting or an invited guest, he found that it was one of his favorite parts. He loved dancing and singing and the joy of gathering with people looking to have a good evening. He felt as though the atmosphere was always wonderful, full of something he could never find anywhere else. While the rest of politics was boring and stressful, impersonal and manufactured personalities, he found that galas were the only places that these people seemed to pass genuine smiles to one another. He adored this about them.

Wooyoung, his long time friend, had an increasingly theatrical personality that only seemed to grow with age. In correspondence, his galas were always even _more so_ a theatrical expression of his grandeur. Wooyoung himself was larger than life and it seemed as though he was always prepared to alert everyone of the fact.

His castle was an hours drive south of Hongjoong’s castle, the group having taken automotives rather than carriages. Wooyoung’s home was a large mansion, sandstone brick in the middle of a grassy plain, the mountains a wisteria backdrop and the forest parallel in the distance. It was rather picturesque and only became much more once they grew closer, party decor being strewn throughout the wrought iron gates and stone entryway, all in shades of gold and champagne and silver. 

Hongjoong was helped from the car by the faceless Guard from before -or was this a new one? Hongjoong didn’t remember- and made his way up into the mansion with clicking steps barely heard over the ruckus of people on the outdoor patio of the wraparound porch. Inside was decorated equally as extravagantly with warm colors and old looking paintings, a large chandelier hanging from the peak of the cathedral style glass ceiling. The grand staircase sat at the farthest wall, the entire center of the house open as it led back towards the ballroom, all the rooms lining the exterior walls. It was Wooyoung’s own design, created by him and his not-partner, Jongho, the two a matching set of architects and carpenters. Hongjoong was often confused by Jongho’s presence in Wooyoung’s life, the two seemingly exact opposites yet living together for longer than Hongjoong knew either. They had met back in school as they studied the same programs and had just _fallen in_ together ever since. They weren’t romantically involved, but tied at the hip and entirely inseparable. Hongjoong thought they were interesting, an odd couple, but interesting.

Hongjoong was a regarded guest, directed up the stairs by one of the staff taking attendance at the entrance, and was going to be introduced as such when the gala officially began. Hongjoong didn’t necessarily like the idea, wishing that he could enjoy anonymity for the evening, but accepting his fate nonetheless. He rarely found anonymity, even when wearing a mask designed for such purpose, and he pondered on the irony as he ascended the glossy stone staircase.

He was directed into a room with wide, dark wood double doors, swinging inwards to expose a lounge of sorts. The room was entirely burgundy and accented with gold and jewel tones; it was excessively dark and rich and lit only with gold and crystal sconces flickering on the wall. It wasn’t to Hongjoong’s taste, but the dramatic flair was certainly Wooyoung’s. Wooyoung reclined on a high-backed chaise near the center of the room facing the entry, smoking what appeared to be a fancy purple hookah while Jongho read his book at the table in the corner. 

“Hongjoong!” Wooyoung cried at his entry, choking on his own sweet smelling smoke as his dark eyes went wild with excitement. Even from the distance, Hongjoong could see the sharp curve of his jawline and the brilliant smile that he passed his way nearly blinded him in the dullness of the room. “You’re here!” 

Jongho glanced up, shuffling his gold rimmed reading specs up his nose to curl an eyebrow at Hongjoong’s presence. Whereas Wooyoung was all sharp lines and gold skin and _energy_ in its purest form, Jongho was all soft, rounded features and a grounding presence. A polite nod was his only indication of interest in the Prince’s company, looking back to his book quickly. Jongho didn’t speak much to him -or anyone, that Hongjoong knew- and Hongjoong respected that.

“Oh and you look _fabulous_ ,” Wooyoung crooned, standing to admire the Prince from a respectable distance.

Hongjoong didn’t think his outfit was all that extraordinary, in truth; he’d thought he had worn much more worthy of such a reaction. He wore a suit today, unusual for his typical preference of dresses for these occasions, but it was tailored comfortably. It was baby blue, the pants made of silk while the undone blazer was cotton, shiny gold filigree patterns decorating the fabric that shined as he moved as though they were threaded with magic. His shirt was a dark navy blue with gold buttons and his lightweight metal mask done with gold and cream filigree strokes that complimented his skin tone perfectly. Baby blue silk heels the same shade as his suit adorned his feet and tied around his covered ankles, adding only a tad bit to his height. His makeup was done with light shimmers and gold accents, dark eyeliner accentuating the shape of his eyes as they were completely exposed from his mask. He had yet to put the mask on, the top poking out from his breast pocket, the gold silk ties brushing against the lapels of his coat. He felt slightly underdressed if he was honest, but Wooyoung seemed to lap the attire up like a cat with cream.

“Thank you, Wooyoung.” Hongjoong said, looking down at himself then to the host once again. Wooyoung looked far more elegant, Hongjoong thought, dressed far more appropriately for the occasion. He wore high waisted black slacks that seemed to shimmer blue when he moved as though the fabric was duochromatic, a black shirt tucked in that had blue paisley print scattered around small fluorescent flowers. He wore a velvet green blazer tossed over top that brushed his full thighs and was cuffed at the sleeves, accentuating the shape of his shoulders and slimness of his waist in a comfortable, effortless manner. He looked gorgeous, as Wooyoung always did, black curly hair tousled and roguish with his mask draped around his neck, forgotten. It was the same fabric as his pants, though a string of white flowers dangled from the corners of the eyes. Hongjoong thought it suited his personality well. “You look stellar yourself.” 

Jongho snorted from the corner, but when Hongjoong glanced at him, he hadn’t looked up. Wooyooung, however, positively beamed at the compliment. Hongjoong almost thought the man would bump into him like Seonghwa’s cat did when he felt acknowledged and appreciated. “Always meaningful coming from the Prince.” 

Hongjoong rolled his eyes at the wink Wooyoung passed him, the two of them settling into easy conversation. Jongho piped in occasionally with added conversation, but seemed more interested in his reading than small-talk. Hongjoong still didn’t mind, respecting the man’s comfort. 

It was only when the grand clock struck eight did Wooyoung dash the two up and into motion with dramatic gestures. Hongjoong followed swiftly, Jongho standing and stretching with leisure. Hongjoong took a second to admire the fellow’s outfit; Jongho was broad and stocky with strikingly pretty features for the way he was built, all black eyes and round cheeks. He was built like a bear, Hongjoong thought, soft yet strong. He was wearing white slacks and a white button down, though a black waistcoat with bloody red stripes that matched the shade of his hair shaped his form nicely. Hongjoong watched as he shrugged on a dazzling white coat with heavy silver brocade and buttons, layered bead veils draping over his shoulders like a makeshift cape. The bead curtain swayed and glittered as he moved. When he turned his back to Hongjoong to set his specs on the table, Hongjoong was able to make out the shape of a lotus amongst the silver and white beads. He looked _stunning_ \- completely otherworldly. For a second, Hongjoong just admired the artistry while Jongho helped Wooyoung with his mask, tying the silk strands behind his head.

Jongho slid his mask over his mouth and nose, matching the curtain over his shoulder with beaded strands that shifted as he moved, as Wooyoung turned to look at Hongjoong again. When Wooyoung caught the Prince admiring his friend, he grinned devilishly, eyes dark behind his mask, striking features harsh when only his teeth were visible. “Jongho looks pretty, doesn’t he?” 

Hongjoong closed his mouth both metaphorically and literally, withdrawing his mask from his pocket to slip the metal over his nose and mouth, mimicking the other two’s movements. “Very,” He said with a muffled voice, slightly airy through the metal, “Anyone will be lucky to accompany him tonight.”

“Why not you, My Prince?” Wooyoung said it not like a question but more as an invitation, an _offer_.

“I’m afraid I’m already spoken for.” Hongjoong said with his own wicked grin concealed by his mask. He hadn’t intended to give away such precious information, but he was riding high from learning that all the castle-staff seemed to already know about the affair, as well as what was likely to be most of the town. Something in him had begun to unravel, the tethers on his self-restraint stretching so threadbare he was certain it was going to _snap_ soon. 

Wooyoung looked scandalized, mouth dropping to speak before Jongho interrupted, stealing their attention, “We are late.” 

Wooyoung immediately snapped his jaw shut, but there was a gleam in his eye that let him know the topic had not been dropped, merely postponed. Hongjoong only smiled sweetly at him as the two turned to follow Jongho onto the balcony. Hongjoong knew he would not hear the end of it from Wooyoung until he spilled everything to the man, but the barrage of questions could wait until later.

The trio made their way onto the balcony, Hongjoong stuffed between the two, that was at the top of a spiraling white stone staircase. The balcony overlooked the ballroom and the crowd gathered within it, a mingling of all sorts of colors and styles, all bright and pretty for the spring theme. The room was decorated in the same decor as the outside had been and it glittered prettily under the large crystal chandelier that dangled from the high ceiling. The white tile floor surrounded the sleek wooden dancefloor and shone perfectly where it wasn’t covered with patrons, the walls all intricate paintings of cherubs and religious iconography that neither Wooyoung nor Jongho prescribed to, white pillars embedded every few paces as accents _and_ support- it was something straight out of a textbook, Hongjoong thought, something historical and beautiful that Wooyoung and Jongho had created _exactly_ to their minds image. Hongjoong could see the bits of each of them in the design; it was beautiful, Hongjoong thought.

Hongjoong scanned the room, looking at all of the colorfully dressed guests milling about like flowers or perhaps beetles. There was a string orchestra on the farthest wall, quiet and waiting on the stage with the heavy purple curtains drawn, the piano empty and lonely. A large snack table was just adjacent to the staircase’s mouth with a seating arrangement area lining the wall behind it. Hongjoong glanced over the area quickly, not paying it much attention. He didn’t think he would find Seonghwa there, knowing that the Doctor would try to be as elusive as possible and avoid his normal dwelling spots. Still, he glanced over once more to see if he could locate San and Yeosang or Mingi and Yunho around the area, hoping to find at least _one_ set of familiar faces other than politicians he had no interest in flattering. 

To his relief, he located San and Yeosang near the punch, looking as though they were bickering over something, locked in each other’s attention _only_ , not caring for the disturbed people around them nor the presence of the host speaking on the balcony. Yeosang’s back was facing Hongjoong, but he could see his hands waving dramatically as San’s dimpled smile was visible even from the distance, looking as though he had Yeosang exactly in the state he had intended.

Hongjoong looked around the outskirts of the crowd after a moment and was then able to catch sight of the peach haired Guard by one of the far entrances, probably based on habit more than conscious thought. Yunho was lounging against the wall, foot kicked up as leverage, eyes scanning the crowd with his arms crossed. He looked like a Guard, even off duty, Hongjoong thought. He hoped that Yunho would be able to relax tonight and enjoy his evening. It had seemed like whatever had happened between him and Mingi had been resolved, considering Mingi was his _date_. Hongjoong didn’t know- Yunho didn’t tell him.

He glanced around the room for a second longer while Wooyoung began introductions, having given his opening speech of wishing everyone health and happiness and _whatever_ else came to his thespian nature. When Wooyoung spoke of the Prince, of _Hongjoong_ , he looked to his friend for only a second, then back to the crowd to give some show of power or respect or _whatever_ it was that Hongjoong was supposed to portray in these moments- he never had any clue, but everyone always seemed satisfied with his show. 

Hongjoong was distracted, though, attention far from the crowd and his friend, the sound of them dulling into a blurry background noise. 

There was a tingling in his nape, the sensation of being _watched_ , though he thought it was ridiculous considering the entire crowd’s attention was on him. His eyes fell to the orchestra again, tracing over the people sat on stage with their shining instruments and entirely black outfits. They looked like a crowd of crows, Hongoong thought, a murder poised and waiting to begin squawking at the peacock gathering. Hongjoong’s eyes fell from them to the crowd and landed on a man only a few rows of people in. From the distance, Hongjoong wasn’t sure if they made eye contact, _couldn’t be sure_ , but he was _unmistakable_.

_Seonghwa_. 

He was dressed in a vibrant and rich blue blue outfit that gleamed like a sapphire in the lighting, silver sparkling in a design Hongjoong could not understand from the distance. He couldn’t tell if he wore pants or a skirt, but the Doctor definitely wore high heels as he appeared taller than normal. A sheer cape was draped over his shoulders and bare arms, cloaking him nicely but surely flowing with something _fierce_ when he moved. He wore a mask over his eyes and nose, silver and glittering even in the distance; the molded eyes curved upwards and out similarly to how the stylists always did his makeup. It made Hongjoong feel like swooning, even from the distance he knew his Doctor looked beautiful. Hongjoong couldn’t see his hands or feet or even most of his legs, but he was _hoping_ the Doctor wore his bracelet. Hongjoong had started feeling achy when he saw the Doctor’s hand bare.

The most surprising part of his outfit that night was the fact that his hair was a striking ink black color, gleaming in the lighting in an oil slick way. Seonghwa had gone through so many hoops to convince the Prince he was _not_ himself, though Hongjoong _knew_. He wasn’t sure how he had picked the man from the crowd as he had, but he was unmistakable as though a spotlight landed only on _him_ , everyone else a dark blur in his mind. 

Hongjoong would always find him, he realized in that moment; Seonghwa might as well have been the star that guided him home. 

\---  
Seonghwa had avoided Hongjoong all day, intentionally kept himself out of the Prince’s eyesight as the stylists prepared him. It had been difficult, everything in him begging him to stop in to say _good morning_ or offer to bring him lunch or _anything_ , but he had all the intentions of teasing the Prince the whole evening by avoiding him at every turn he could. He held strong in his resolve all day and he would be damned to ruin it so early in the night, so he held true to his resolve and kept himself steady.

All those thoughts escaped him when the Prince had stepped out onto the balcony and looked like an angel sent to earth. He practically glowed under the lighting, red hair styled up in a swirling pattern that was slicked tight over the sides and waved around his head. He looked sharp and beautiful against the elegant white marble backdrop lined with flourishing gold sconces and crystal chandelier. Seonghwa was amazed at the shift between the way he looked cozied up on his couch with his cat only days prior compared to the visual before him now. He thought about the contrast between _Hongjoong his lover_ and _Hongjoong his Prince_ once again. 

Hongjoong’s eyes had fallen to his area and Seonghwa had felt increasingly vulnerable, as though the Prince could _see him_ , as though he was stripping him bare in the crowd. It was impossible, Seonghwa thought, that the Prince had already found him, so he tried to breathe as he kept his eyes on the back of the heads of the couple in front of him. 

The only reprieve of the feeling was when his friend, the host Wooyoung as he had introduced himself to the crowd, began to lead him down the spiral staircase with a gentle and polite hand on his lower back. Seonghwa used the distraction to slip away, towards the opposite side of the room, closer to where he had seen Yunho and Mingi. He hoped to find comfort in the familiar presence while also avoiding the Prince entirely from the other side of the room. He would surely be able to see him coming, the crowd always parting for him. Seonghwa should be able to locate the Prince easily now that he was on the ground level and be able to avoid him with such an easy warning.

He knew the Prince would be caught as soon as he was in the crowd by chattering patrons and he planned on using it to his advantage. With the Prince busy, he would be easily avoidable. His goal of the night was to stay as far from the Prince as possible, no matter how desperately his body ached to head over to him. So he counted his steps and held his reserve as he turned his back to the Prince.

\---  
Yeosang and San were delighted to have their accompaniment, Yeosang red cheeked as he and San argued over something inanely unimportant that Hongjoong could barely keep up with. 

Wooyoung had disappeared into the crowd to mingle, leaving Jongho and Wooyoung to listen to the bickering couple as Hongjoong searched out his _Dragon Doctor_ amongst the unimportant heads milling about like ants. 

Hongjoong tuned back into the conversation just as Yeosang looked ready to slap San with the sandwich clenched between his manicured fingers. Yeosang looked incredibly elegant tonight, almost as though he slipped from an oil painting. He wore a satin gown that seemed far too lightweight for the weather, the fabric both clinging to his skin and flowy as he moved, dripping like molten gold over his form. It was a light champagne color that shimmered in the light and sagged around his chest in a manner far more revealing than he typically wore, the straps absolutely miniscule and barely holding the light fabric up. Over it he wore a sheer white robe with large gold spots and swirls detailed into the tulle-like fabric, champagne colored strappy heels making it so he matched San’s height. His makeup was light and shimmery and his hair was twined with gold ribbons that matched his bunny-shaped cream and gold porcelain mask. Gold and diamond jewelry dripped from his neck and wrists, shining as he moved in the lighting as though he were covered in raindrops or fallen stars. His outfit was a striking contrast to the fiery expression he wore as he scolded San, eyebrows knitted and skin flushed enough that his birthmark shone through his foundation.

“ _You wouldn’t be able to jump_ ,” Yeosang stressed, looking wild as he waved his sandwich. Hongjoong was almost concerned bits of it would fly off if not for the white-knuckled grip he had on it. “The momentum would keep you pinned to the object.” 

“What if it wasn’t that far, though?” San asked, squinting at the mayor with a comically inquisitive look. “If it was only a short way down you _definitely_ could jump.”

“You’d still get hurt!” Yeosang shrieked, shoving his hand at San but not actually making contact, “If you jumped you still would have to deal with the momentum because your upwards lift would only reduce it by a small fraction.” 

“What if a fraction was all you needed?” San asked, tapping his chin. Yeosang made an awful noise caught between a cry, a sob, and a scream, catching the attention of other partygoers. He turned on his heel and disappeared, mumbling something about _inconsolable weeping angels_ and being cursed for eternity. San looked pleased at his riling of the young man, innocently grinning at Hongjoong and Jongho when Yeosang had finally disappeared into the crowd. 

San’s outfit mirrored his antagonizing nature tonight, Hongjoong decided. He was dressed in a stunning red silk catsuit with one long leg and one leg that cut off at his mid-thigh, the hems lined with gold that matched the smokey patterning that trailed up the longer cut leg. The neckline was high and wrapped around his throat, though a heart-shaped cut out was in the dip of the center of his clavicles that revealed a small amount of skin in addition to his completely bare arms. Hongjoong had forgotten about San’s tattoos, the black ink lining his arms and legs in intricate patterns and portraits and shapes. His favorites were the trees and the flowers that decorated him at random and the barely visible black cat on the soft skin next to his right breast. His gold mask covered only one eye and curved over his cheekbone and tapered off towards the hinge of his jaw, entirely lace and fitting of his personality. 

“How did you two even get onto that discussion?” Jongho asked, sipping the champagne he grabbed from the table. 

“I asked him what if the balcony collapsed between you guys and we just kind of went from there.” San said, red painted lips grinning devilishly. San was a minx in every sense of the word and it was any wonder how Yeosang managed to put up with him and his antics. “He’s so easy to get riled up.”

Hongjoong and Jongho both scrunched their noses in response, affronted at the way San seemed to stare off into the crowd as though he could _see_ yeosang amongst the bodies. “Please,” Jongho said after swallowing, “Don’t give us details.”

\---  
Seonghwa had found Mingi and Yunho easily, falling into friendly conversation with the only people he knew other than the ones he was avoiding. It was funny, their initial meeting; Yunho and Mingi had immediately been alert at the strange presence. Seonghwa had had to take off his mask to prove his identity, making the two laxen immediately. It helped curb his nerves that the Prince had located him earlier.

It was surprising, though, seeing the two of them in an informal setting other than in the night or in his driveway. Yunho looked so much different outside of his Guard uniform that Seonghwa wouldn’t have recognized him if it wasn’t for his unique peach colored haired that hung floppily over his head as usual. He wore a black slack and cropped, claspless jacket set that had tiny but vibrant multicolored metallic flowers littered over the entire spacing of the blackness, a lime green turtleneck underneath that was a shade _only_ Yunho could have looked that dashing in. The Guard’s mask was a simple black one curving around his eye sockets, looking to be made of felt or cotton, though somehow he looked just as expensive as every other guest. Seonghwa once again thought that was a talent Yunho had, the richness of his smile and the heavy chestnut of his eyes carrying the wealth of his appearance. 

Mingi was another stark difference to his normal-self, blonde hair styled neatly with gel though lacking the crunchy appearance. His suit was entirely violent red, the color rich and deep yet bold and vibrant, the slacks a silk material and tucked beneath the red velvet coat he wore. Under the coat a burgundy mock-neck shirt helped to balance the aggressive shade, making it more romantic and sweet, with a small gold heart shaped necklace dangling just below his collarbone line. Mingi’s mask was a shade matching his shirt, simple and pretty, cupping his mouth and jawline nicely, leaving his pretty crescent shaped eyes to roam the area around them. 

“So, you’re truly hiding from the Prince?” Yunho said, smirking against the lip of his half empty wine glass, “You really went all out with your disguise.” 

Seonghwa’s gloved hand came up to play with his hair, self-consciously. “It’s washable.” He said absentmindedly as the duo nodded at the confession. “Do you think he’ll like it?” 

“Only if you let him see it.” Mingi said, flatly. He wasn’t _unamused_ by the game, but Seonghwa could tell that he didn’t see much point in it. Yunho understood, if only barely, but neither could truly find how it was a reasonable response to a _love confession_. Seonghwa knew Hongjoong understood, though, and that was truly all that mattered in their situation.

“How long do you plan on avoiding him?” Yunho added after taking a small sip. He licked his lips and moved his mouth as though he were going to add to it, but he didn’t. Instead, he took another sip of wine. Perhaps Hongjoong would have known what he was going to follow it up with -Hongjoong seemed to know how to read the Guard and his mannerisms-, but Seonghwa did _not_ , so he let the expression slide off of his back.

“Until he catches me or I have to go to his chambers.” Seonghwa chuckled quietly, fingers playing gently with the bracelet on his wrist. He tapped the pattern of opals as a reassuring gesture, a physical reminder that Hongjoong was _very much_ interested in him and that this game wouldn’t change it. Mingi watched the motion with knowing eyes, but said nothing.

“I’ll avoid his quarters then.” Yunho said, then stopped, “Actually, neither of us are on duty tonight. Ah, should have warned the other Guards.” 

Seonghwa shrugged, his fingers stilling and Mingi almost caught his eye again. “I guess they’ll learn through experience then.”

\---  
Hongjoong had been watching Seonghwa off in the corner of the room near the orchestra. The Doctor was chatting with Yunho and Mingi, looking relaxed and happy and it made Hongjoong’s heart soar. Still, he was growing bored of the stagnancy in their game. It was supposed to be exhilarating, a fun game of back and forth as they avoided each other but kept a watchful eye on one another. They had been stuck for too long, he thought, Seonghwa too comfortable chatting with those he was familiar with and Hongjoong too distant to make it _taunting_. So he took his departure from the group he was mingling with when the orchestra packed their music sheets and exited swiftly, soundlessly, rehearsed perfectly like tuned robots. 

The piano had sat untouched all night and Hongjoong intended on changing that, having eyed the instrument since his entry. The crowd parted naturally as he shifted through it as though he carried a physical barrier with him to keep everyone distant. He felt a smile tug his mouth when he glanced at Seonghwa from the corner of his eye to see the trio watching him, their eyes glued to the way the Prince sauntered through and towards them. Hongjoong knew Seonghwa must have been thinking that he was coming to claim his prize. Seonghwa’s eyes watched him with hawk-like focus, but the prince paid him not a single spared glance in return.

Instead, Hongjoong ascended the small staircase with perfect steps as he gave the perfect impression of perfect royalty. The crowd began to clap loudly for him, hooting and cheering as he stood in front of the piano with a straight back and focused eyes.

He was not playing for them.

His fingers graced the lid of the dark red wood gently, the polished sheen gleaming brightly in the lighting as the crowd began to quiet. With the snap of the hinges, he lifted the piano lid and slid onto the bench, body liquid as he took up a familiar stance in an unfamiliar setting. He allowed himself a moment to get comfortable with the brass pedals and the keys, stretching his fingers over the expanse to become familiar with an instrument that was not his. Every instrument of the same kind was built the same in theory, though every instrument held character individual to it, held a personality, held a _soul_. Hongjoong only ever played once he introduced himself to the instrument and had allowed the instrument to do so back.

His fingers brushed the brand name in cursive font above the smooth piece of wood that normally held the sheet music, before his fingers moved slowly to the keys once again. 

Then, and only then, did he play for his Doctor.

\---  
Seonghwa watched in rapture as the Prince poured himself into his music, body swaying as his fingers danced over the keys with practiced ease that appeared second nature. 

_I’m good at everything I do, Seonghwa. Any position I’m put in, I’m incredibly good at._

The memory rang like a church bell in his mind as he watched the Prince play. He truly was good at everything he attempted, though not for a natural talent but the sheer amount of _effort_ he put into every single thing he did. Seonghwa grew more amazed by the Prince with every moment he spent admiring him.

The melody Hongjoong played was yearning; a heart-pulling song that sounded so sweet, so romantic, but also so melancholic and aching that he felt as though he could cry with the overwhelming emotions flooding him. 

He knew Hongjoong was playing for him, whether he knew where the Doctor was or not. He knew Hongjoong had an audience but his only _listener_ was seonghwa.

When the melody ended and the Prince stood, it felt like far too short of a time. The crowd around them clapped, though the sound was muffled to the Doctor’s ears- he wondered if it sounded the same to the Prince in that moment. It was as if the world was underwater. Hongjoong looked around, eyes wandering over the crowd with disinterest- _searching, searching, searching_. When his eyes finally fell on the trio, still standing off to the side, Seonghwa felt as though he could no longer breathe, as though the air truly had been replaced with water as he attempted to keep himself from drowning in everything that was _Hongjoong_.

Finally, he bowed, bent at the waist and back entirely straight, aimed directly at them- _at Seonghwa._

Seonghwa felt his heart creep into his throat as the Prince disappeared back into the crowd without another glance at him. He wanted the game to continue it seemed, enjoying it the same as Seonghwa had been. 

Seonghwa eventually meandered over to where San stood on the sidelines, sipping what appeared to be a whiskey cocktail as he watched the gathering of people.

“I didn’t know they’re serving hard liquor.” Seonghwa said in lieu of a greeting. His voice was low enough to be considered private, but loud enough to be heard over the sound of over-excited party-goers and slightly drunken miscreants. 

“They’re not,” San grinned and held up a flask that he had procured from seemingly nowhere. Seonghwa couldn’t find a place where the man would have been able to store it on his body, his clothing skin tight and lacking pockets or a purse. It was almost a miracle, as though he pulled it from thin air entirely. San seemed to notice his curiosity and merely grinned foxily at him, eyes narrowing in the way that made Seonghwa think he was _dangerous_. “Want some?” 

“No thank you,” Seonghwa said politely, smiling at who he now considered a friend. San had initially been a slightly nerve-wracking entity, but over time and several calls, chats, and letters later, Seonghwa had deemed him a wonderful companion, if not an incredibly mischievous and thrilling one. “I want to be relatively sober tonight.” 

“Oh, for the Prince?” San said, tone far too suggestive for Seonghwa’s liking. It made him crook an eyebrow at the scantily clad younger.

“Not necessarily.” Seonghwa defended, though it sounded weak even to himself. His tone was far too thin, too watery, to be considered substantial. 

“There’s been an awful lot of talk about you two,” San said with a grin, one that was unnecessarily full of information and taunt, mimicking a Jesters. “Lots of people say they saw Hongjoong with some awfully suspicious bruising. Also that you spent the night.” 

Seonghwa shoved his shoulder into San gently, making the other laugh in a mirthful way. The two were comfortable with each other in a way that Seonghwa hadn’t experienced with anyone else. Seonghwa had never felt _young_ in his life, always archaic beyond his years. San made him feel young, made him feel as though he wasn’t as jaded and weathered as he had once felt. Seonghwa knew that if he faced the version of himself he was a year ago, standing idly in Doctor Seo’s bare office, that he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself. He had many people to thank for that, San included. “You are far too nosy for your own good. Have you no manners?” 

“I’m not royalty, Hwa,” San licked the rim of his glass as his eyes drifted over to his boyfriend who was chatting with Wooyoung and some others Seonghwa did not recognize. Yeosang was dressed entirely out of character, more skin revealed than Seonghwa ever thought he would see. He looked confident and comfortable, though he was certain his drive for such an extraordinary outfit was standing right beside Seonghwa. When Seonghwa looked back to San, his eyes were dark and attention still taken, “I have no responsibility or incentive to be _respectable_.”

\---  
Hongjoong had been given Yunho’s hand as a gift, whilst Mingi had disappeared to snack and chat with Jongho. The tall Guard had slipped away with a quiet farewell and had rounded on Jongho at the table, having apparently known the man for an amount of time he didn’t divulge. Yunho had shrugged, equally as unsure but lax as ever. 

So, while the two were the outliers with nothing to do but drink in each other’s company, Hongjoong asked him to dance. 

The orchestra had returned and was playing something sweet enough to sway to as the crowd made room on the floor for dancers like them. They didn’t do anything too intricate, just simply swayed and stepped in a small square, with the occasional twirl tripping the two up- Yunho insisted on being the one twirled and Hongjoong couldn’t deny him no matter how ridiculous it looked. One of the times Yunho bumped his head on Hongjoong’s arm and caught himself off balance, nearly toppling the two. It had led to a fit of giggles from them and barely concealed sneers from others. Hongjoong didn’t care, he felt light and happy.

“So, are you and Mingi…” Hongjoong raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. Yunho had drank some of the same wine Hongjoong had and his curiosity got the better of him, hoping that the taller man was affected enough to spill some secrets of his own. Yunho rarely talked about himself, not in any way that was what Hongjoong could consider _personal_ , and he hoped to change that. It wasn’t that Yunho didn’t trust him -at least that’s what Hongjoong hoped-, it was more that Yunho just preferred talking about _other_ people more.

Yunho laughed, his cheeks filling into a pretty color that complimented his hair nicely. Hongjoong thought he looked like _spring_ , so beautiful and light. It seemed as though Yunho was willing to give away information tonight, his smile amicable but eyes unfocused. “I’m not sure. He goes back and forth a lot, you know? Like one night we will be holding hands and stargazing and the next he’ll be like _we are coworkers_. I don’t know. But he kisses really well and his hands are soft, so I really am not complaining.” 

Hongjoong laughed lightly, though it was tinged with a sad undertone as he could read his best friend's confliction. “Have you told him how you feel?” At Yunho’s avoidance and sheepish shrug, Hongjoong groaned and dropped his head into his chest with a thump that resounded for only the two of them. “You need to tell him, otherwise how is he supposed to know? Mingi seems like he likes straightforward, so I don’t know, _be straightforward_.” 

Yunho shrugged, fingers digging into his waist and holding him a slight bit closer as though he feared the Prince would leave. “I’m just scared.” 

“Scared of what?” Hongjoong asked, looking over Yunho’s suddenly earnest expression. He hadn’t seen the Guard look this vulnerable before, the man always so carefree and poised. It was almost alarming, but he held his best friend tighter in reassurance. 

“Losing him.” When he answered, his voice was thick with an emotion Hongjoong couldn’t place but it sounded an awful lot like _fear_. It was a feeling that Hongjoong understood, a feeling that crept up on him in the nights he was alone. It was a feeling that told him he would lose Seonghwa eventually: that he would become tired or ordered away or just _fall out of love_ with him. It was an impossible emotion to deal with, especially in the silence. Hongjoong understood that emotion and all he could do was hold his friend tighter because there was no solution to it, not one he knew. The only thing he had to remedy it was _trust_ ; trust that he wouldn’t go, trust that he would stay, trust that Seonghwa regarded him as highly as Hongjoong regarded him. 

Trust was all they had.

\---  
Seonghwa watched the way the Prince and his Guard moved on the ballroom floor, pressed together closely as they spoke words illegible from the distance. Seonghwa felt a stab of jealousy in his heart. It wasn’t at the closeness, not _really_ , but rather at the fact that it wasn’t _him_ holding the Prince like that. 

“You know, if you want him so bad, just go over there.” It was Mingi who spoke next to him at the snack table, gathering his items as he was about to head over to Jongho. The two had caught each other in small-talk while Seonghwa held the spoon to the pudding with a grip that whitened his knuckles. He didn’t even _like_ pudding, but he needed an excuse to stand on that side of the table to stare off into the distance at Hongjoong.

“The game is no fun if we don’t play it right,” He said, though his resolve was weakening. He surely would break soon if the Prince didn’t come to him already. It was clear that the Prince had seen him, knew what he looked like and what he had dressed in, but he made no moves towards him. Neither of them did, stuck in a stalemate for the time being.

“The game is also no fun if you’re miserable.” Mingi said, just as the song began slowing. Seonghwa would have responded, but the taller man disappeared quickly without room for argument, leaving him stranded in his thoughts. Perhaps he was right, Seonghwa thought, the game could only go on as long as the two were enjoying it. 

Seonghwa still scooped a spoonful of vanilla pudding into a paper cup and grabbed a small spoon anyways.

\---  
“Dance with me.” Hongjoong had broken down finally and had located his Doctor in a corner off by the snack bar, looking dejectedly into his tiny paper cup. Hongjoong didn’t know what was in the cup, but he suspected the poor snack had done nothing to deserve such an unfairly hostile attitude being directed towards it. The silver spoon hung out of his plush lips cutely, when his wide and unmistakable eyes met Hongjoong’s. This close, Hongjoong could see the patterns of stars on the sheer cape, could see the silk gloves that ended at his wrists, could see he was wearing pants, could see the velvet heeled boots he wore matched his cape, _could see his opal bracelet_. He could finally make out the details of his black-haired _Dragon Doctor_. The sight made Hongjoong tongue at his bottom lip appreciatively. 

“With pleasure,” Seonghwa sighed as thought Hongjoong had offered him a meal after days of fasting instead of a simple _dance_. With rapid movements he dropped the cup without a thought into the trashcan by the entrance and took the Prince’s hand by second nature.

The two became entangled quickly, bodies pressed together as they made their way to the dancefloor. Hongjoong centered them on the floor as the new orchestra got into place, the crowd parting naturally for the Prince and his partner. 

Seonghwa’s hand found his waist while Hongjoong’s free hand slithered up and into the hair at the nape of the Doctor’s neck. Their still intertwined hands came to rest between them, pressed against their shoulders as they held each other close. Hongjoong almost dropped his forehead to the Doctor’s, but decided to maintain a slight bit of polite posture. The music began with a sweet violin note and Hongjoong took the first step, leading the two in a rhythmic and natural dance. It was as if the two moved in sync by eternal force- never stuttering, never falting. They moved not as one but as two complimentary pieces. Hongjoong felt his heart stutter at the thought and wondered if Seonghwa could feel it in his hand.

“Black suits you,” Hongjoong spoke first, voice low and sweet, far too saccharine for the far too public setting. “I prefer your natural color, but at some point you should definitely do this again. It’ll be like taking a stranger to bed.” 

Seonghwa looked affronted for a moment, head ducking down but stopping quick as he remembered the setting. Seonghwa straightened again and narrowed his eyes behind his silver mask made of intricately woven metal that looked like briar stems and curved upwards and outwards at the edges and eyeholes. He had on dark eye makeup, making the coal black of his irises all the more noticeable as he squinted behind the mask. “I only _just_ took you and you’re already thinking of bedding strangers. How unbefitting. I should be offended.”

Hongjoong grinned, leaning close enough that their chins almost brushed and he had to tilt his head to look up at the Doctor. “Only you,” He said sweetly, “Pretend you are a stranger sent to ravish me in the night. I can plead, offer you anything you want, but _I’ll be the only thing you seek_.”

Seonghwa snorted, the sound out of place given their setting and shook his head lightly, black strands of his perfectly styled hair falling into his eye in a manner that Hongjoong found _exceedingly_ attractive.

“You are incorrigible, My Prince. Absolutely insatiable and improper. _Illicit_.” Despite his scolding tone, it looked as though he began to contemplate the proposition. The Prince grinned at a successful raid of the Doctor’s easily distracted imagination, watching the way heat filled his cheeks and neck while his eyes focused on something that _wasn’t there_. Hongjoong adored his imagination, his distant thoughts, his easily distracted self. Hongjoong adored _him_. 

When Seonghwa shivered in his grasp and blinked several times as he returned to reality, he glowered at the Prince. It seemed as though he had thought it through as carefully as Hongjoong had, though no objection spilled from his lips. “Anyways, My Prince, it took you an awfully long time to find me.” 

“No, it didn’t.” Hongjoong countered, stepping back to be twirled by the Doctor. When they were chest to chest again, he smiled at him. “I’ve watched you the whole night.” 

“Sure you have,” Seonghwa said sardonically, though there wasn’t a single trace of doubt in his expression. He was looking at the Prince with open wonder, as though he had been given a viewing of the heavens and it made Hongjoong’s chest fill with both named and unnamed emotions.

“I have.” Hongjoong insisted, blinking up at him as he felt himself relax into the man’s grasp just a bit further. “I found you the moment I stepped onto the balcony. You were close to the orchestral stage. I don’t know how I recognized you but it was as though you were the only person of interest I could see. It was as easy as finding the moon amongst the stars.” 

Seonghwa blushed, tripping over his feet momentarily and Hongjoong used his momentum to twirl him, swinging the two in a broad circle as the floor cleared out a slight bit more. Hongjoong knew the crowd had become interested in the Prince and his partner, slowly thinning to trade _experience_ for _curiosity_. Hongjoong decided if they were going to invade such an intimate moment then he would give them something to gossip with, something _solid_ , something _real_. Hongjoong pulled the hand on his neck back only momentarily to slip his mask off and dropped it into his pocket without a word, the Doctor watching his movements with enraptured eyes. He returned his fingers to the Doctor’s hair, wanting the man to see him entirely, earnestly; He wanted this moment to be _maskless_ ; He wanted this moment to be entirely _Hongjoong_.

“You were with Yunho and Mingi for a while, by the stage. I played for you. I played _for you._ ” Seonghwa swallowed deeply at the words, at the implications behind them, everything Hongjoong said and didn’t say hanging between them, heard and absorbed and processed with warm cheeks and warmer hearts. “I watched you as you meandered and chatted with random guests. I watched you spend most of the night with Yunho and Mingi. I watched when you joined Wooyoung and Yeosang. I watched when you and San made off to the corner. I watched it all, Seonghwa. You will always be my focus, even when I am out of sight or when I am busy, _you_ will always be the center.”

Seonghwa blinked in rapid cession, eyes wet and glassy under the lighting, and Hongjoong knew he was searching for a way to process his emotions given their extremely public setting. Hongjoong knew if they were in private, he would have felt more confident in his answer, would have opened up with something so heartfelt it would have made Hongjoong’s knees weak and his head swoon as he attempted to catch up to his heart. He knew Seonghwa would have gathered him in his arms and held his head to his chest as they swayed to the sound of their heart and the rain. He knew Seonghwa would whisper prayers of the Prince, voice as revenant and genuine as Hongjoong had ever heard someone speak. If they were alone, Seonghwa would have reminded the Prince that they were _written in the stars_.

They weren’t alone though and Seonghwa seemed keenly aware of the fact. Instead of a response, Seonghwa asked with a strained voice, “Are you going to confirm my identity?”

“What do you mean?” Hongjoong’s eyebrows knitted as his fingers tugged at the sensitive strands laced through his fingers. Seonghwa blinked roughly at the sensation combined with the words.

“ _I mean_ ,” Seonghwa stressed, pulling only the slightest bit back from the Prince, putting only the most minute amount of space between them as possible. “Are you going to confirm if I am who you think I am? Right now I am a stranger sent to ravish you. My identity is hidden. I look nothing like your Doctor. Are you sure it is me?”

Hongjoong grinned then, feeling the bubbling of emotions in his stomach, in his thighs, in his chest. _So much_ went through his body at those words, lighting a fire within him, one that would burn until Seonghwa himself put it out. The hand tangled in Seonghwa’s hair crept up his scalp and undid the cotton string knot holding the metal there. The mask slipped from his nose and dangled in the Prince’s grasp with forgotten care.

“As suspected,” Hongjoong said breathily, eyes tracing the shape of his noes, the curves of his eyes, the roundness of his lips- all previously imprinted on his mind with a vengeful kind of emotion that tore through his chest with the wildfire. Hongjoong’s eyes fell onto Seonghwa’s once again, now both maskless in the forgotten crowd, existing only for one another _in that moment_.“The only face I’ve ever loved.”

Seonghwa’s eyes fell to his lips and the Prince needed little more invitation than that. Seonghwa’s mouth tasted like rose wine and was warm, pliant under the careful ministrations of Hongjoong’s own. Hongjoong ignored the way the crowd silenced before the whispering began, barely even remembering they were there. He ignored the sound of the orchestra and whether or not they were still playing, whether or not they even mattered anymore. He ignored the potential consequences and what this public admission would mean for their future and the ridicule they would inevitably face. 

He ignored it all, because none of it _mattered_.

Hongjoong had long since accepted what all of this meant for the pair of them. He was ready for any and all future outcomes.

None of it mattered, not when the Doctor’s fingers pressed into his waist and his lips moved comfortably against his own in a sweet tandem, a dance they had created on their own through practice and _care_.

Nothing else mattered when his heart swelled with the knowledge that Seonghwa thought the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, i’m not sure when I will be uploading the spin off’s however the titles are:
> 
> Yungi: When Midnight Passes (three chapters planned as of right now, rated M)
> 
> SanSang: of Felines and Foxes (four chapters planned as of right now, rated E, with an emphasis on the E)
> 
> Neither of these fics follows Echoes's timeline, so they go backwards _and_ forwards in time, but the joint moment they all three share will be the gala that you read about in this chapter! 
> 
> I want to get them mostly written before i start uploading so i can have fast updates but there’s also a couple other fics i want to post first that i have mostly pre-written, so maybe late February? Tentatively a february release haha  
> anyways i hope you enjoyed and i'll see you in the next chapter for the _final_ <3<3<3<3


	10. Epilogue: in a Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We lay here for years or for hours, your hand in my hand, so still and discreet, so long we become the flowers. (I’d be home with you, I'd be home with you.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s the end-end :((   
> however with this epilogue we finally get to see where the title came from :,) [yes, i’ve had this part planned since the very beginning]
> 
> song: 
> 
> [in a Week](https://open.spotify.com/track/28jCwARf1gYfHtTHmJJNHQ?si=C-MmGP8QRsmJyh-BVq3FdQ)-Hozier

The sun was warm and alive that day, warmer than a usual mid-spring day as it peered through flower blossoms and fresh tree leaves to fall in waves against the earth. Because of that, Hongjoong had insisted on the two spending the day in the garden underneath an apple tree hidden in the labyrinth, lounging under plush leaves and sweet white blossoms that swayed underneath a pristine sky, puffy cotton clouds, and the rest of time. Seonghwa hadn’t fought it, not truly. He loved being out here just as much as the Prince did, away from everyone and all the things that followed crowds and titles and _a physical presence_ in the visible vicinity of those they were avoiding. Seonghwa hadn’t argued as the Prince had dragged him into the labyrinth and into a new set of paths that he had never adventured. He wondered if he would ever see the whole maze, ever know it the way Hongjoong did. He doubted it. The labyrinth seemed as much a part of Hongjoong as the title _Prince_ was. Some things, Seonghwa thought, he was only privy to as a guest.

Now they lay under the dancing shadows, the Prince sprawled over his lap as he watched for shapes in the clouds between bouncing tree limbs and gawking at the Doctor. Hongjoong was dressed sweetly in a dress that barely reached his thighs and only seemed to expose _more_ skin as he had his knees bent up, the ruffled skirt bunching around the higher parts of his thighs. Seonghwa didn’t linger too long on the skin there, though his fingers would grace it gently occasionally- it wasn’t arousing, not really, more _reassuring_ ; it felt comforting to be able to be intimate with him like this, somewhere not quite private but also not exposed. Seonghwa liked the reminder that he was _allowed_ to touch the Prince like this openly now, the fear of imprisonment, of death, of _losing him_ were finally gone. 

The wide neckline of the bodice shaped his shoulders and chest nicely, Seonghwa thought, the skin there inviting; if it had been a day or two earlier the fading splotches of the aftermath of the gala would have been visible. The Prince didn’t seem to want to take that risk, however, and had kept the bruises and scratches and lovebites all hidden carefully for the week that they lingered. 

The sleeves were puffy around his shoulders and _cute_ and it felt like something that Seonghwa would see him wear in the garden- _his_ garden, the one at his home with the strawberry patch that he could never look at without seeing his Prince there. There were many things that Hongjoong had invaded, so many things that Seonghwa could no longer look at without feeling the tugging urge to make his way back to the wildchild. Hongjoong was a daily part of his life, no matter where he went. 

The Prince’s red hair was wild today for inexplicable reasons; it was almost as if Hongjoong just hadn’t brushed it that morning- something that Seonghwa wouldn’t put past the young heir. His jade eyes were glowing underneath the sunlight that occasionally dripped over the pair in silky sheets when the breeze rustled the trees, dousing them in liquid gold and promises of eternity. Seonghwa ran his fingers through Hongjoong’s hair as his head was dropped in his lap, figuring that the lack of styling meant that there was no harm to the motion. The Prince was explaining some theory he had read about that the continents were once a single shelf that shifted apart, having read several books in the past week to suggest the theory, and how much he wished to travel between them and map their coastlines _just to see_. Seonghwa didn’t know if he believed that, but he listened to his lover explain it regardless, loving the wonder in his words. He spoke with such a conviction that made Seonghwa think he would believe the Prince if he told him that they could fly if they put their minds to it. 

It was overwhelming, Seonghwa thought, the feeling in his chest that he gained when he watched Hongjoong like this. 

Seonghwa was nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary, yet the Prince was laying in his lap as he spilled his inner thoughts to him as though it was _natural_. _And it was natural_. Everything about them came so naturally that it was undeniable. Seonghwa didn’t truly believe in souls nor soulmates, but he figured if there ever was such a thing _Hongjoong was his_. They were connected, he thought, and if there was a life after this he would surely find him there as well.

“Hongjoong,” He interrupted, voice heavy on his tongue as the Prince stalled in the middle of explaining how continents shift, blinking up at him as he waited. The words fell from Seonghwa’s tongue easily as though they were water and tasting as though he had lapped at Heaven’s rain, “Hongjoong, I think I love you.” 

Hongjoong blinked several times, the mascara on his eyelashes making them longer, darker. Seonghwa thought he looked beautiful without the makeup and that he looked beautiful _with_ it. He just generally thought that the Prince was the single most perfect creation he had ever seen. It was easy to think that when Hongjoong had shown him every side of himself. 

He felt almost forlorn when the Prince sat up, the Doctor’s hands falling from his soft hair. The feeling was quickly brushed it away as he crawled into his lap, straddling him with their eyes level. Hongjoong’s hands fell to the collar of his white shirt and his brown leather suspenders, idly playing with the material as they were absorbed in the sounds of spring. Nothing filled the air between them, the space empty save for them, but around them the birds sang and somewhere the summer bugs tried to harmonize with their own melodies. Seonghwa wore his specs today, the Prince often commenting about how much he appreciated the look. Seonghwa often took his sly compliments as requests for the reappearance of certain things and Hongjoong always seemed pleased.

Finally, the Prince spoke again, voice the same shade as the buttercup flowers blooming around them in the grass, “Seonghwa, I have spent my life with little time to consider what love meant to me. I suppose I feel love for a lot of things, in a lot of ways, but I’ve never been certain of such an emotion. When I asked what it felt like, no one gave satisfactory answers, or at least, no answer that made _sense_. After all, I can’t blame them; How do you explain something as complex and individual and unique as _love?_ ”

Hongjoong looked wistful, eyes distant as he continued to play with the Doctor’s shirt with idle fingers. Seonghwa couldn’t take his eyes off of the curve of his cheeks nor the flutter of his eyelashes; he couldn’t take his attention off of the man in his lap nor the heavy anticipation in his chest nor the dryness of his mouth. He was once again wrapped in the Prince’s entire being, cloaked in only _him_. It felt familiar, it felt nostalgic; it felt like coming home to a place he had never been before. He was certain they had been here before, that they would be here _again_. They had eternity like this; they were _infinite_ , they would never fade. Every iteration of them would find their way back to this place, this moment, _this feeling_.

“I’ve never had to contemplate romantic love, considering I always presumed my future to be predetermined. However you, Seonghwa, have given me a key detail I've been missing my entire life.” He paused, inhaling deeply and blinking dreamily. When he continued it sounded as though he were opening his soul to the Doctor, opening multiple lifetimes of memories with words he had spoken many times before. “I may not have contemplated it before, but I think now I know what love feels like.” 

“Hongjoong?” Seonghwa whispered his name the same way the breeze graced the trees and the grace; carefully, gently, delicately. His chest was weighted but in the same way that it felt when Hongjoong laid his head on his chest in the mornings where they bathed in the glow of just _holding_ each other. It was a welcomed weight, a promising weight, a reassuring weight. This was _real_.

“I am saying that i love you- rather,” Hongjoong paused, taking a breath before his eyes found Seonghwa’s. There was a sincerity there that Seonghwa hadn’t expected, something so profoundly honest it felt as though he were truly just baring his soul for the other to peck at as he pleased. “That I am _in love_ with you. Truly, I think I have always been. You are something different, something grandly unexpected in my life. You are something I thought I would have to live without entirely. You are something I can find nowhere else.”

There was a long moment where Seonghwa could only stare at Hongjoong in admiration. He studied the freckles decorating his bridge and cheeks, the darkness under his eyes barely peeking through the makeup- he studied the tip of his nose and the empty holes of his piercings. He studied every minute detail he could only see of the Prince this close, the small things, the _private_ things. The things that made Hongjoong _Hongjoong_. When he spoke, his voice was steadier than he expected it, as though he were reciting something hardwired into his person, but he figured loving Hongjoong truly _was_ built in; “Do you hear that, Hongjoong?” 

“No,” Hongjoong responded quizzically after a second, face skewing up at the unexpected question. There hadn’t been any preamble and nothing in their surroundings had changed, and Seonghwa swallowed thickly as he watched the Prince’s lips as he spoke next, “What is it?”

“It’s the echoes from the center of the stars.” Seonghwa said, his voice more like a memory than a statement. He was recalling a moment in a bedroom from what felt like an eternity ago, but was really only months prior.  
_I would love to travel someday. Find all the nooks and corners and the ends of the universe- find what’s at the center. I think about it a lot._  
Seonghwa swallowed again before speaking again, “Can you hear what they’re saying? The echoes, I mean.” 

“Translate it, my Doctor.” Hongjoong’s voice was gravelly as he explored his face and his eyes, searching for _something_. He had seemingly caught onto the same memory that Seonghwa had, eyes distant and misty. Seonghwa’s fingers clutched his waist in a warm grip, holding him steady as though he feared his disappearance. He didn’t truly fear him leaving, but he wished to savor the time they had together in this iteration; he wanted the next life to be pushed off for as long as possible; he wanted to hold _his Prince_ for as long as he could. Seonghwa would spend as many lifetimes chasing him down as necessary if it meant they ended up back in this same position with this same feeling once again. 

When he answered, his voice wavered only slightly and it made the Prince blush for a reason Seonghwa couldn’t fathom entirely. “They’re telling me I succeeded in your quest.” 

“My quest?” Hongjoong asked, his brow crooking and head tilting only slightly. He looked so pretty like this; like he was a spring gift. Seonghwa’s grip tightened further, wrinkling the soft cotton fabric. 

“Yeah,” Seonghwa said, voice lost in both a memory and the moment they were in.  
_I am sure that one day you will find the center of the universe, wherever it is. If anyone could, I do believe it would be_ you.  
“To find the center of the universe. They’re saying I found it.” Seonghwa finished finally, tone heavier than it had been previously.

Hongjoong shivered in his grasp, eyes flittering around Seonghwa’s face as he continued to search for _something_. There was a desperation in his tone when he spoke, his voice dropping nearly to a mumble, body shifting closer to the Doctor as though he were lacking in contact. “Oh? Pray tell, where?” 

“In your eyes,” Seonghwa choked out, sliding his hands around the Prince’s back to pull him an infinitesimal bit closer. Hongjoong’s fingers moved to grip his shoulders in a firm grasp, stabilizing the two as though they would tip over in the breeze- Seonghwa thought he just _might_ with the way his body seemed to lose all sense of true physicality. “The moment you said I love you, _I found it there_.” Seonghwa’s eyes searched his face quickly, eyes dashing over every familiar detail as though he could imprint it to his soul’s memory. Hongjoong looked breathless, cheeks warm and lips bitten, and he looked _enamoured_.

_I hope that you will be there when I do. I hope that you will be by my side for a long while._

”You, Hongjoong- you are the center of the universe.”

When Hongjoong’s lips found his again, the kiss was wetter than usual, tears finding their way into the mixture. Seonghwa wasn’t sure which of them the tears came from, perhaps a little from both party’s, as they moved in perfect tandem. Seonghwa held him tightly, held him _close_. He clung to him as though in that moment the only thing keeping him alive was _that_. Hongjoong wasn’t fairing much better, fingers shakily moving between his shoulders and his neck and his hair, never settling as though he were convincing himself that this wasn’t an elaborate dream. Seonghwa knew it wasn’t a dream, knew this wasn’t something his mind could have conjured, not even if he were bored and lost behind a mountain of paperwork in a tired office that never felt like _his_. Seonghwa knew that this reality was far better than anything his mind ever thought could happen, never even contemplated on due to the unlikeliness. 

They continued to kiss like that until the sun had changed positions in the sky, the breeze turning windy, and the birds heading to roost. They continued to kiss until the tears dried and left them with nothing except the remaining feeling of giddiness at the prospect of this _working_ \- of _them_ working. Seonghwa was the first to pull away, lips slightly bruised and sore but still chasing the Prince’s with gentle pecks and delicate brushes of their noses together.

“Hongjoong we need to get back to the real world soon.” Seonghwa said breathlessly, forehead pressed against the Prince’s as he panted against his lips. Despite that, he made no move to disentangle himself from him. Seonghwa was still a weak man, after all, with little ability to resist him.

“Not yet. Not now.” Hongjoong’s voice wasn’t desperate but it was aching, chaining, _burning_. It held Seonghwa to his every command, tugging the Prince closer again until their noses brushed. Hongjoong’s eyes were closed when he continued, “Allow me just one more moment of this eternity with you. Let me savor what we have while we are still in it. The real world will always be there, but you and I- we have now. We have our time now. Let us lay here together, so long that we become the flowers. Let us become a part of _this_ world, at least for just a little bit longer.” 

Seonghwa had known for a while that he could never deny Hongjoong, no matter the request. He was utterly and completely enchanted by _him_. Hongjoong merely had to ask and Seonghwa could not refuse. He pressed a slow kiss to his lips and took a soft inhale, the scent of sweet strawberries and slight tangy lemon overtaking the flowers surrounding them, Hongjoong once again invading every one of his senses. When he pressed another kiss to the corner of the Prince’s mouth, he retracted only enough to speak, breath brushing against his skin and sending shivers through Hongjoong. “As you wish, My Love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys so much for joining me on this incredible journey. I had SO much fun writing this fic, it was such a positive little bubble for me to surround myself with. I can’t believe that me just wanting to write about joong in a dress looking pretty turned into like 115k and one of my favorite works but….here we are :,) 
> 
> anyways thank you for joining me and i hope to see you again in the spin off’s!! If not, thank you for joining me on /this/ adventure :,) lots of love, take care, and stay safe💖💖
> 
> also, if you want to hang out with me on twt in the meantime feel free to [@MidnightPasses](https://twitter.com/MidnightPasses)(it's not a writing acc though, just fyi- i talk about my cats and cry about the boys! it's a generally fun time i think). i also made a pinterest board for this fic series, but i’ll have to link that once it’s ~pretty~ and organized haha
> 
> as always, i hope you enjoyed💖💖💖

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed<3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/MidnightPasses)  
> [CC](https://curiouscat.me/MidnightPasses?t=156572385)


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